Nova Peak The way she goes

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he did not understand. perhaps it was not for him to comprehend.

skorpa stood staring down at the body of the faithful man who had brought back the child of star eater. he had been mistrustful; the white-jaw would not regret it. but there was indeed an existent sorrow, and it was that war had come even to the peaceful doors he meant to build by force.

to lose even one was an affront to his spirit, a shame skorpa meant to never forget.

digging a grave was a solitary experience of the most singular loyalty for a man.

it was as if skorpa buried yet another drengr fallen to Valhalla beside him.

he scored deep, then pulled ksura's body with a gentleness into the created hollow, arranging limbs as they had been, adjusting the jaws with their clenched stick into some semblance of comfort. skorpa faced morwenna's man west and heaped earth in a mound over him, then rolled stones to make a cairn after that.

with a rugged respect did skorpa set the final rock to rest, a white stone which might catch the morning sun and the evening glow, shining down into the valley.

the winsook man sat a vigil that night as ayovi's stars danced over the mountain.

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