"Not a flame flickers."
The Red, standing with The Gold looks out into their lifeless oblivion. But she is not talking about any light now extinguished in the nothingness before them. Gods are creators, and just as you may have a blank piece of paper, they have theirs - the nothing that they began with. The Gold's eyes narrowed, and a feather-light wind lapped around their shoulders.
"We both know he is far from being ash upon deserted earth. The wolf is a tactician biding its time; you do not dance on a volcano lest it erupt under your feet."
It is imperative volcanoes exist... but you cannot tell one when to lay silent, or when to move the earth; they have not been entirely gentle in coaxing Iaurdagnire into following through with his purpose. But in having learned so much, the stag still knows very little about what exactly his purpose is. All he knows is his obligation to the wrath of Season's turn, but that is all it is. An obligation, a necessary evil in what the God's chose in order to achieve what they must.
"Spring does all to hold the servants disasters in high regard after the last defeat. One can still admire the lava swelling in a seeming pallid crest, if knowing when to take notice of dormancy; we cannot doubt ourselves in our choice at the very beginning."
"No."
The Gold agrees.
"I begin to wonder whether Iaurdagnire will be burdened by his place, or made free by it."
The Red is silent, mulling over what Iaurdagnire said in their presence.

Death is an illusion of choice in this world, but me? Because of you - because of them - I have no choice. Whether I remember past lives or not, it is the thought of me being tossed around in era's past present and future for someone else's game that I cannot stand. I want to be the master of my own destiny, not hounded by those who wish to dictate it.

If and when I die, I don't want to die knowing that at some other time some other place, I'll be reborn again as something different. I want to grow old. I want to be the old coot telling stories under a willow of years gone by. I want to move through this forest and become part of it, slowly fade into the background like all the old do. I want to die because I have lived, and let go when there is no life left in me.
When I die... I want to die. That is all I want.

"In forgetting to exist, he will realize himself. Nothing else is capable of doing so."