Sun Mote Copse a stick, a stone; it's the end of the road

He counted. Leona he knew, and now Caracal. . .but there were more. He swallowed, feeling horrible for his grandmother. No one should outlive their children—it simply wasn't right. And yet, here she was.

Killdeer pressed his nose gently to the seashell, then pulled away. 

-Maybe I'll find something to put here,- he mused. -Something that reminds me of him. Something not from the sea. Because. . .I dunno. He was so much more than that.-

But he couldn't think of a memento off the top of his head. There were only places, and memories. Things he couldn't hold or touch or carry.

A fresh wave of tears came, and he let them flow. This time, they were silent streams down his cheeks, the barest sniffle to accompany them.

I just can't believe it, Killer murmured. -And I dunno what to do, now. I was going to go visit him. Now. . .-

Where next? Brecheliant, to see his father?