On the flat expanse of pancake ice, War stood by the Pale Rider’s side. Though their forms did not touch, their shadows intertwined, black on black, in a smoky caress.“Knew you’d come,” Death said cheerfully.She smiled, and that slow motion of her lips hinted at many things. “The White Rider divided, and the world on the brink of destruction. How could I stay away?”“I could set my watch by you.”“You don’t have a watch.” Her smile broadened into a grin. “An hourglass, maybe . . .”“Please, not another joke about a scythe . . .”She mimed zipping her mouth shut.A pause, as they listened to the sounds of the boy healing and the man summoning doom.“I like him,” War said.Even though she hadn’t specified whether she meant the boy or the man, Death smiled and nodded. “Me too.”“You like everyone.”“Well, yes.”The two shared a quiet laugh, their voices mingling in perfect harmony.A longer pause, and then War asked, “What of Famine?”“What of her? She’s not mine. Not yet, anyway. She will be soon enough.”The Red Rider slid him a look. “That’s cold, even for you.”“Eh, just practical.” A shrug. “Everyone comes to me eventually. It’s the journey that makes it interesting.”“Such a people person!”He flashed her a grin. “My best quality.”“Oh,” said War, sliding her gloved hand into his pale one, “I can think of others that are better.
