Stone Circle One more body to bury

A sodden call broke the wind, and as a good shepherd does he heeds it with his own.

The man once pitch black as coal has now greyed to that of a dead log—white across his face and back that does nothing to conceal the age of his bones and the history that weighs upon them. But in all his years, in all the wisdom and age he has collected his life did not prepare him for the wrath that laid ahead.

A body—or what left of one was laid broken at the feet of a dove and the poet, a silent maiden, and a shaken soldier. Their soul long been dispatched from the confines of fried flesh and gnawed bones, and sucking in his breath, the elder stood before it—before them with a mouth as firm as the earth.

Even when his chest met the back end of his shaken son, Greyback did little to offer him attention, solace, or any other malleable feeling. All the man could do was step forward towards the nightmare to stare with misty eyed at the remnants of where his heart laid broken. He tried to convince himself it wasn't true, that it had to be someone else, something else.

Or perhaps that maybe it was the way it had to be. The way it was intended from the start; the loss of venicy, the two stillbirths bored by Valette, the disappearance of newt, the departure of clay.

"How..." he broke, voice chopped.