Hoshor Plains Dust to the wind, Blood of my blood...

Yes! Although I think it would be hard to drag a wolf to a peak...

Zoratto was there too, but Rakharo did not dedicate a glance to him. His eyes had locked with the Khaleen, who promised that Lavakho would run in the night lands forever.

"Me nem nesa." - It is known- he repeated, and turned to look at the remains of his brother once again. The skin had been consumed by the fire, but the muscles, large as only his, had only been carbonized. His figure was still recognizable, although the view was terrifying. Painful.

Rakharo knew that he would have to drag the body to a peak, and the only one he could think of that could be blessed to serve as a Dotharan burial ground was the peak that towered north from the morning camp. It was far from their current location, but it had to be done.

Rakharo did not take any longer to take his brother's heavy body by the neck, which was hard to hold a grip on. It tasted like blood and fire and ash. He was tasting his own brother's blood. But he did not pay any attention to that. He pulled and then turned to drag the body. If Zoratto was going to obey and help the Khal, Rakharo wouldn't reject it. But he did not need the help.

The walk was a silent one, at least from Rakharo, who only focused in one thing. To get his brother as high up the mountain as he could. He would ensure that his soul was released into the skies and the night lands, where he would herd the stars forever.