I believe that the Lady of the Graves hunts everyone...note...she did not say she was coming immediately....
“Within the Planes, within Pharasma’s Spire, within the Boneyard, within Pharasma’s Palace, a great deity sits. Pharasma, Lady of Graves, I request your attention.”
He was forgetting something. Something vital. Arlo’s heart thundered in his chest. His head ached as a massive presence appeared. Eyes burned in their sockets, soil dried his mouth, blood dripped from his fingers.
“Speak.”
Head bowed, Arlo shuddered at the all-encompassing voice in his mind.
“Do you still hunt me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you stop hunting me in my life?”
“No.”
A whimper slipped from his lips. Trembles flooded him, from fear or the strain of the contact, he did not know.
“Are… are you… a god?”
“Yes.”
“Will allying myself to another god protect me from you?”
“No.”
Pressure released. Arlo slumped in his circle, head throbbing, fur puffing. Arms closed around him, carefully lowering him to the ground. Topaz eyes peered into his, worry etched into the beautiful orbs.
“What have you done?” Coradiel whispered.
“What… what I… what I had to….” Arlo swallowed drily, still tasting the soil of the grave. He spat, spittle dribbling down his chin. “Pharasma hates me. None of the gods will protect me.”
“None can protect you,” Coradiel pointed out. “Death is inevitable.