:Take my hand, Herald Vanyel.:
Vanyel blinked, struggled against his fading sight, tried to hold to consciousness.
:My hand.: The strange herald held his right hand out to Vanyel, and there was entreaty in that mind-voice.
:Will you not take it?:
The urgency in the request pulled at him; this was important. Important that he fight past the pain to obey the stranger. Moved by some deep conviction that he didn't understand, he found a tiny crumb of strength; just enough to move the fingers of his left hand and place them, sticky and warm with his own blood, into the stranger's outstretched palm. The stranger's hand closed over his, and his lips curved in a smile of triumph.
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Book Two of the Last Herald-Mage Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey. My favorite simply because Death is sweet, Death is love. Death forgives. And I love that thought..simple.
As for a picture of me..(cover those eyes!)