As the others step forward, Lambert reaches out to Childermass, blindly grabbing the magician’s hand and pulling him along beside him as he steps closer to the Ringmaster. The light of Creation may do Childermass few favors — and with Lambert concentrating on things like bright and warm, the sword isn’t holding its shape as a sword too well. It’s more like a thunderbolt or a club made of spikes at this point, held aloft by one hand. Like Papyrus, he flanks around to the side, reaching up to press joined hands to one jutting ridge of bone with leathery scraps of skin attached.

He’s shaking from exhaustion from everything it’s taken them to just get to this point, but as he flattens their interlinked fingers against bone, at least the trembling in one hand evens out somewhat.

“And what you are is stubborn as fuck,” he informs her. “Dying’s not hard, people do it all the time without even trying. Living’s not so easy. Doing both at once? Uh, I have no idea what that’s like, but you do. Part of you, anyway. So ... can you remember how?”