I spent the weekend reading Robert Service poems and I can absolutely imagine Fraser finding a certain peace in the idea of being eaten alive by Nature, the North, whether it be a bad winter flu, or the slip of an ax, or simply the claws of something wild.

Luckily, Ray has enough rage for both of them. I particularly liked the afterimage of his interesting new face, new images layered over his memories, and how comforting Fraser found it to have Ray yelling at him for bdoing somethig idiotic.