Signing the will

With Giga slowly bleeding to death, she fades away leaving a druid without a light.

The companion has since long set off on his own path avoiding looking back, to live his own life with his kin.

When You no longer could brandish the whip against your slave what use is it to you. A slave that talks back is more worth dead than alive. 

My blood is cool. Trickling its own path down trough the snow. Carving out patterns in a language different to that of my tongue.

My brother's life is not my own. More rarely can he find me in the glade. His lantern still brings light but it can't melt the frost creeping into the ground digging its jaws deeper once more after a years rest. 

Left is only a carcass standing in darkness pretending to go on. It's easier this way no one can sense the smell in the dark.