Anwei stood and watched out the window as the pod disappeared. She hadn't known Punchy well enough to feel comfortable speaking for him; he'd just been another person in Computing to her. And that had been wrong, terribly wrong that he had been alive and real and right there, close enough to touch, and she'd never reached out with hand or voice to know him better. And now she paid the price for that; knowing that he was gone, and that she would never know him.

She bowed her head and put her fingertips to her forehead, and prayed silently. Swift Death of Eight Wings, Whose flight encompasses all the worlds and the places inbetween, please find this soul, Matthew O'Connor called Punchy, and fly him to the realm of his gods. He will have Your passage-price, tales of amazing marvels he has seen and done;" she paused and giggled mentally for an instant, "indeed, he will even sing them to You in the most pleasing of rhymes. And if he cannot find a way back to his gods, or if his gods' ears are closed to him, O my Death, please take him to that Last Home where all wear their true names and true faces; and where nobody wants for anything; and where nothing can ever hurt him. And tell him that I will see him there, someday. Thank you, my Death.