Stone Circle One more body to bury

The revelations Arlette had shared with him -- first, that this remnant they carried was their brother, and second, that their aunt had died -- well, they were enough to render the stoic man quieter than he'd ever imagined his reunion with his sister would be. For what could he say? He still knew nothing of her scars, but could only imagine they were, at least in part, related to the cougar that had slain Nanook. And as for Clay? Arlette had always been strong, but she was also sensitive; he remembered the solidity and the softness of her heart. He was not surprised when she tried to help, and he was not surprised when she simply struggled. He let her come beside him as best as she was able, and let the brunt of their brother's weight fall upon himself when she inevitably let go.

He carried their brother alone for the final silent stretch. When they reached Easthollow, he lowered Clay's corpse to the ground, careful in how he placed the pieces that remained. The hollowed face, he turned away from the sky, to afford his brother this final honour in the midst of this great dishonouring. His brother was gone, his soul long departed, but his body was sacred, no matter how far he had wandered from mother, from Greyback, from them.

He tried not to think much beyond the surface of things: the neck looked best when laid like this, the legs when placed like that. When he had finished arranging the shredded parts, Merrit stepped back and sidled closer to his sister, for his comfort as much as hers. He did not know what she thought of his absence but found in the way she looked at him at least reassuring. Shying away from the body -- yet she did not seem averse to him. So he expelled reserve, and any hesitation, and sought to brush against her, to offer her a compassionate touch. The whisker brush of an embrace, his shoulder against her shoulder, present, tangible, strong, if she wished to collapse into something only seemingly sturdier than herself.