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The Lady on the Grey holds out her hand. She is luminous in these darkest of limestone halls, and when Miss Lupescu takes that outstretched hand, ah - it is a relief from the broken things inside her and the war between woman and wolf. The Lady helps her off the ground, smoothes Miss Lupescu’s hair back with gentle hands and smiles. They walk together, side by side, out of the winding depths of tunnels under Wawel Hill. Miss Lupescu thinks as she walks that it is much easier to leave than to enter. They pass the traps, the sites of battles fought, and nothing stops them. Miss Lupescu only turns back once, at the very end, within sight of the cool twilight, and growls a heavy lupine sigh. There will be no more wars, no more Honour Guard patrols, but there will also be no more football matches, no more lists. Oh, her Nimini boy. Silas must finish what they all have started. “We have won, da?” She sounds wistful. The Lady on the Grey smiles again, or perhaps she never stopped. “Have no regrets.” So into the open air they go, and Miss Lupescu tilts her face up to the stars peeking around clouds. The statue of the Wawel Dragon belches fire and smoke into the air, and she thinks of the real dragon in the caves below. Again she sighs, and the Lady touches her elbow gently to guide her to the horse who waits for them both. “I am a Hound of God,” Miss Lupescu says. “I have done my duty.” There is no argument from the Lady on the Grey. -- Nobody Owens never joins the Honour Guard officially, though it is requested of him many times. He does not refuse them help, though, because there is much that cannot be done save by a living human man. He wonders every time if he is making his parents proud. He needn’t worry, Silas tells him, the last time they meet. He makes them all proud. -- Silas has traveled to many places, seen many things. He has killed, yes, and nearly been killed in turn. He has fought dragons and men and things that may not even exist. He has loved, and been loved, and lost that love to the world’s turning. He has not danced the Macabray, nor any of the dances that differ only in name. He has never even seen the dance, because he is something other than alive or dead. It is possible that he could watch it, but he never does. It does not bother him, or he does not let it bother him, and there is a subtle difference between the two. Until it is that certain day of winter and the flowers bloom. Until his ward of the graveyard asks him with shining eyes what exactly the Macabray is. And he cannot answer. So he watches the next night, knowing that there is a deep chasm between his own self and the dancers who sway and kick (la-la-la-oomp! la-la-la-oomp!) in the oldest dance in the world. He cannot help but think that he will never dance with the Lady on the Grey. It comes as a mighty relief when, many tens of years down the line, she greets him with an outstretched hand and they dance in the light of the new-breaking dawn. It is not the Macabray, but it is enough before the final ride. -- Mistress Owens tells him to leave no path untaken, and Bod follows her well-wished advice. He travels the world and fills his head with all that it has to offer. It is a most wonderful journey every day. He makes it a point, however, to visit certain places. Krakow, Vancouver, Melbourne and San Francisco are only a handful of the stamps in his passport, but they are, arguably, the most important. He visits the caves under Krakow, though he’s never sure where all the passages could lead, or what the scorch marks on the walls are from. In Vancouver, he finds college students who swear the stories they’ve heard about haunted sawmills are true. It is much the same with Melbourne and San Francisco, different legends and different histories. Everywhere he goes, Bod meets people. In London he meets a girl with opaline eyes who can open any door she pleases. She asks him if he’s seen her sister. Bod reluctantly must tell her no. In a café in America, he meets a different woman who tells him about gods who walk the earth. He argues with her - gods were not on Miss Lupescu’s list of the different kinds of people. They do agree to disagree. Everywhere he goes, he never forgets home. -- Elizabeth Hempstock still misses the boy who had the Freedom of the Graveyard. It’s been a long while, longer than she can count, and the apple tree has withered and died since. The paint has flaked on the headstone he made her, the glass gone cloudy with age. She promised, though. And a witch never forgets. -- It is the winter solstice when Nobody Owens finds himself in a place that he knows in his own bones. There is snow on the ground, ice underneath that, and he has to pick his way around the grounds with some precarious footwork. It is worth it to look up and see a church spire that is familiar and welcoming. It is nearly dusk, and he finds the door open. There is no one inside, nothing but the things of yesteryear and dust, but Bod expected nothing more. He slides a pew down from where it leans against the wall, and sets himself down gingerly. It has been a long time, and he is tired. Tired enough to sleep. Tired enough to dream. He wakes to the smile of the Lady on the Grey, who says, “Welcome home, Bod.” He simply nods, because he knows death is nothing to be feared, and takes her hand.