Charon paced on the soon-to-be-dead side of the river, waiting for ghosts to transport to other side. They came to him sometimes - visions of the dead, demanding to be carried to the other side. They never left him alone until he did what they wanted, either. At the moment they were leaving him be, which was a relief since the last soul he had carried had not shut up once the entire time he carried him. With an abrupt stop, he turned and looked out over the plains, wondering where the blue lioness Helle might be. He had raised her from a cub and she had been a great comfort to him, seeing how she was neither dead nor dying, but she had her own visions and her own path to follow. It was right that he'd let her go; the Styx was no place for the living. With a snort, he resumed his pacing. It was only a matter of time before the dead returned.
