Swiftcurrent Creek burning a kite; i'm at a funeral, nothing unusual

‘I need to bury her,’ Zephyr said, a small muzzle and smaller teeth already finding purchase on his dead mother’s scruff.
 
He watched as the body was dragged and placed inside the mouth of the den, and then deeper. Her limbs bent unnaturally. Flesh without soul. The scent of decay and illness persisted. It settled heavily in his nostrils, in his lungs, and it made his stomach roll.
 
Uneasiness was an unfamiliar, unwelcome feeling to him.
 
He stood beside Zephyr. Tried to not think too deeply of the body below—
 
And pressed down.