Black Morass sakoku

Crowfeather could tell that it was best not to discuss the Saints further. The woman was not like them and it did not appear that she agreed with their behavior. She was not malnourished or ravaged by marks from a fang. He could not help but wonder how she might escape them, those frightening wolves. 

The names of her siblings were said reverently. Crowfeather bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt almost overcome by longing, hoping that the spirits of her siblings would have appeared in the muck and followed her on to their next life. It ached in his chest until she mentioned the names of Mothwing and Moonshadow. 

Moving from his place, he sniffed about the bases of the trees and before long his eyes settled on a beautiful stone that was wedged in the mud. It was dark and jagged. It looked like it had a casing on the outside, some kind of protection for the beautiful color of gem that glittered just in the crack. Crowfeather gripped it in his teeth, muck and all, and carried it back to where the woman was. This one is for Mothwing, he said. 

Turning back to the trees, Crowfeather seemed to be unable to find anything else. He wanted this to be a sign that his brother was not dead, that he was still alive somewhere. Just as he was to give up, something fluttered from overhead. A caw from a dark crow in the trees above. One dark feather floated down and landed at the paws of the seer. His heart was pounding in his ears. The crow cawed once more and took flight into the dank wood. 

Crowfeather plucked the feather from the ground and walked slowly back to the woman and her totems. He placed the birds gift down and looked at her with a mournful expression. For Moonshadow.