Ouroboros Spine the flowers will never die

a little sigh broke from the moonfeather. "not yet. many weeks. but i still will hunt beneath the sun," she declared, meaning it for a joke and yet experiencing the zeal of determination firing her. "when that time comes, i wish to travel to the glacier of songs sung by the moon," she told her raindrop.

"it is a holy place. the bones of your father's brother lie there. his spirit was not ready to leave this earth. it is time to return and say the prayers again, so that he will be at peace if he has never found his way to the dancing lights." not a vigil, only an offering, a dance, a string of sacred words that would make the glacier unpalatable to those who were dead.