Lion Head Mesa ash

tamar had been whispering.

the sound of a voice broke her from it. she dropped the branch and whirled around.

it was him. the man who was not wolf but not servant. the queen had even given him a rank to say this. "mazoi," tamar murmured with a small bow. "we prepare to bury our dead. i am making a path so that her spirit might also leave the stone walls."

if she had been home, the steps would be: clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise again, three rings of gold around a pyre.

but she was not home. tamar kept her pale eyes away from the burning of his own.