In no state of matter would lying to a comrade become acceptable. The Sorrow had thought himself rather clever for avoiding the question.

Dissembling, as it turned out, felt little better.

It had been no tragedy. Certainly no betrayal. To The Sorrow, death was essentially a change of address. But some viewed it otherwise. The Fury was familiar with death as associated with the enemy. The Sorrow had no fear that the news of his end could affect the unit's loyalty, but the truth could serve no purpose, and only add to his Joy's pain.

"Some mysteries," The Sorrow said gently, "are meant to remain enshrouded. Once the departed release hold of this world..."

He shrugged.

"Those who die in battle are more reluctant to sever our ties." The Sorrow smiled. "We want to see how the war ends."

His comrade's despair saddened him. Hopelessness in a soldier was unbecoming.

"We may all ascend to Valhalla yet."

A firelit hall of warriors... Not a bad afterlife, as they came. The Sorrow felt fond sympathy for the wise old one-eyed god. And he had always liked ravens.

"The difference between doom and salvation is only a choice."