She floated into the room and bade the attendants leave. The black-cloaked figures bowed and scurried away, and the last one pulled the ornate doors shut as they left.

Warren smiled at her from the bed. She was still no more than thirty, her hair long and lush, skin supple and glowing.

“I feel like a dog,” he croaked.

She chuckled. “Now why would you say such a thing?” She asked warmly. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“I heard once that, to a dog, man is like an immortal. Watching us die is something very few dogs do.”

“Ah,” She said. “Man is an elf, and dogs are humans.”

Warren laughed, but couldn’t keep it from devolving into a coughing fit. His mother wrung out a washcloth and wiped his wrinkled face with it. “You’re no elf,” He croaked.

“I was once.”

“Once…” he considered. “Ah. I remember that story. Damn, that was a long time ago. I was still sitting on your knee.”

“Your memory is almost as good as Mímir’s.” She set the rag down and took his hand.

“What’s it like, dying?” Warren asked.

She pondered this for a moment. “Well, leading up to it sucks. The illness or injury… But the process itself is only briefly unpleasant.” She stroked his face.

“Is it painful?”

“No. But you know, you’ve met him before.”

Warren’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Death.” She smiled. “You’ve seen me walk with him before, when we visited the beach… and in conferences here at the palace…”

The old man nodded. “Mm. You mean Thanatos… or whatever he goes by these days.”

“Yes.”

Warren harrumphed. “Seems like a sweetheart. You always had a soft spot for Underworld gods.”

His mother laughed. “That hasn’t always worked out in my favor.”

The old man raised his eyes to her. “Mummy?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I used to ask you when I was young… will I come back as a baby when I die?”

She smiled. “I think by now you’re old enough to make that decision on your own.”

He laughed under his breath. “I see now why you’re not scared of it. He’s your friend.”

“That wasn’t always so, love. There were days when I was terrified of dying… But that wasn’t Thanatos’ fault.”

Warren paused. “You were scared of dying… but not of death?”

She nodded. “I was scared of not mattering. And for a time, I saw death as the end of all that mattered. But… every time I look at you, right up until the moment you die, I realize that I have made a difference. I have mattered.”

“So death was never really the end of that, after all,” he concluded with a soft smile.

His mother stroked his white hair with a slender, youthful hand. “I’m so proud of you, honey.” She bent and kissed his forehead one last time.

When she sat up, there was a figure behind her. A black-clad man with long, dark waves, carrying a scythe.

She turned to see the visitor, and his brown eyes crinkled into a smile as she craned to kiss his cheek.

He looked at Warren. “You ready to go, Rabbit?”

The old man barked a laugh at the old nickname and slid from the bed with ease. “You kidding, Jackal? I’ll race you to the scales!” His legs felt strong again.

“A moment,” said Death. He gestured back over his shoulder.

Warren looked back. His youthful mother sat at the bedside of a body he barely recognized. She didn’t weep; after all, this was part of her eons-long existence. But she petted his hand and turned to look at Thanatos.

“I’ll take good care of him, Hope,” said Death.

“I know you will.”