Sun Mote Copse red breath

The procession was a justly somber one. The sodden body seemed impossibly small and fragile in her jaws, and though she knew the child beyond pain she carried it with the utmost of care. It was hard to suppress the feelings of grief that rose within her as she carried the tiny body. The comforting thoughts were hard to remind herself of with such a concrete and depressing reminder. The young were at Molech's breast, in Molech's embrace, but to be so they had to die. There was a loss of life with their blessing, it could not be ignored.

Seeing her sister and leader so torn broke her heart. She longed to provide comfort to Eshamun, but no comfort would soothe this wound. To attempt now would be near insulting. Ar-Khalba, too, broke her heart. The sadness in his eyes, the wetness on his face that no doubt came from tears. She would go to him soon, she thought, once she was sure that the pair did not wish to take comfort in each other.

Eshamun's voice rose and Asherah nodded to her words, closing her eyes and following her sister's voice in prayer. When she opened her eyes, Eshamun glanced among them. She spoke then, her voice soft but loud enough to be heard. She looked to her sister as she spoke. "Their sacrifice will not be forgotten, they have blessed us all. May they rest peacefully in Molech's arms."