Too much history

Dead or not, Sirius knew that he would have to try. It was worth taking a trip to the Hallows regardless, to see how Art and the pack were faring after the illness. He had no doubt that they had been struck by it too. But… he would think of them later, for now he would savour this time with Resin. Despite his desires, he knew it would be brief. Of course, the Warlord would think ten years too brief.

He watched as a splattering of gold hit the ground, wondering if ghosts could be sick. “Sometimes I fear it moves too quickly for me. Alas, I do what I can, and mourn the times i’m too late.” he paused, and then gently shook her paw off of his. Only so that he could reach forward, and grab the other woman into an embrace. “If you have the power, you are always welcome in my dreams, Resin. You are a mother to me, more than the one who birthed me ever was. I wish…” he shook his head. It didn’t matter what he wished. He had learnt already that the world did not bend to his whims.

"Sirius Fatalis"