Run,” he whispered. “Run. ” “No, Rand,” I said, brushing the dirt from his face. “I’m tired of running. ” “Forgive me, please. ” He clutched my hand as his eyes beseeched me through tears of pain. “You’re forgiven. ” He sighed once, then stopped breathing. The shine in his brown eyes dulled. I pulled his hood over his head.
It's not your job to die for your Pack! It's your job to make the other bastards die for theirs.