[u]Smiling sadly, his calm face trembles as he struggles to stay composed.[/u] "[i]I guess... I'm not one for goodbyes. I didn't mean for it to be like this... Unforeseen consequences of dark magic have increased how fast my body decays. I didn't mean to leave for so long, nor be back for so little...[/i]" [u]He starts to cry, his smile turning into a grimace.[/u] "[i]I wasn't ready for death then, and I'm not now... But a choice is something I don't have. I'm finally having to pay the price for what I have done.[/i]"

*Sketch just keeps holding him close, abandoning logic and hoping that maybe if he holds Po tight enough, it'll all be okay.*

[u]Stroking Sketch's head, Po makes no move to push him away. He left so suddenly, abandoning his best friend, only to come back on his deathbed. He himself partially hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't die, but he knew what was happening to his body. His days were numbered, and he had no intention to die peacefully.[/u] "[i]As a wise man once said, Do not go gently into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lighting they Do not go gently into the night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, Rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on it's way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying if the light. And you, my father, There be in the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.[/i]"