Twisted Slough the ground beneath us is shaking, the sheep are finally waking

It was grueling work to extract Ashlar from the pit, and then place him in another. Riley's shoulders were sore by the time the duo watched what was left of Ashlar sink beyond sight.

In that moment while Masque's mind raced, Riley's was oddly calm. He wondered -- abstractly, maybe -- what denizens of the deep would eat Ashlar; if his bones would ever resurface, if anyone would ever come across him tens of years into the future - would they wonder who Ashlar was, what kind of life he'd led, what kind of man he was?

Masque pressed her head beneath his chin and then she was turning, flinging dirt back into the pit. Riley padded through the squelching loam behind her, offering a few heavy slugs of his own forelimbs.

When it was done, he tried to find something to say -- but it was a moment that didn't need his feeble words to illuminate its preciousness.