Moonspear dew on the grass

Seal followed the instructions, and Sialuk watched with a sense of pride as her village sister's daughter hummed the rites to the dead. Only moments after the piece of moss was gently placed over the bone did a crow—though not Sixsix—cry out overhead. It was perched upon a tree branch. After a moment, a second joined beside the first, speaking its iconic single-syllable note as it looked down upon the tombs of the long-dead bodies. Sialuk watched, yellow eyes trained on the two birds as they sat there for some time. Then, without any provocation, the two spread their wings and flew off.

The medic had never before considered that Sixsix may have been a spirit himself, but through this display, she suddenly understood. The gentle crow who had been her near-lifelong companion was not simply a crow, but the watchful eye of an ancestor for a girl who had lost so much, so early in her life. A profound sense of knowing flooded Sialuk then, and she looked back to Seal.

You did well, she said. They are at rest once more. The starwoman paused for a moment, glancing up briefly to the now-empty branch above. Tell me, do you have wish of knowing more of the place beyond? Of the ancestors? she asked.