for anyone buried here
![[Image: 81w4Jcc.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/81w4Jcc.jpg)
This is the place Kvarsheim holds, here among the fields of green and their standing stone circle. With a sodden pelt she traces the perimeter, stepping in time with the gentle cadence of spring rain. The monoliths gaze back at her. They are ancient, imbued with lichen and carvings and glimpses of secret histories long ago buried. Death is sailing on the wind, it strokes at her shoulders and she feels the forgotten presence of all who are laid to rest here.
Beside her is a tangle of flora, In her lips she lifts a pale, three-petaled bloom and approaches the first stone.
On the guardian with sharp edges like teeth, she places a white trillium, a garland as noble as she.
On the compassionate mare with a surface smooth like a long flowing tail, she places three leaves of delicate maidenhair fern.
On the tallest patriarch, who overlooks them all and brings Gunnar to mind, she places a bundle of lavendar clovers, blooms so resilient they grow even in bitter grounds.
On the twin hearths richer in color than their siblings, she places two fiery, passionate tiger lilies.
On the trio of round gossiping auld wives, she places upon each a lively and laughing branch of bright red huckleberry.
On the oldest man who’s split in half and crumbling at his core, she places a violet deerhead orchid to symbolize a youthful mind.
On the fluted woman who is coiled like a viper to strike, she places the mariposa lily, a dangerous-looking deep purple, revered for its tenacity.
On the green man hiding in lichen, she places a single dogwood blossom, the color and shape of honesty.
On the swaying, graceful dancer, she places four playful yellow primroses, so she might have partners to dance with.
There is one monolith standing amid the others, notable in no way. Nothing but ordinary. On this stone, she places herself.
Even in death, the character of life is remembered.
Tauris is a visitor here,
and only for a time.
Kvarsheim does not own these stones.
They never belonged to wolves.
The stones found the pack;
it was never the other way around.
And when wolfkind
has vanished from this place,
and the visitors are gone,
the stones will find again.
This is the place Kvarsheim holds, here among the fields of green and their standing stone circle. With a sodden pelt she traces the perimeter, stepping in time with the gentle cadence of spring rain. The monoliths gaze back at her. They are ancient, imbued with lichen and carvings and glimpses of secret histories long ago buried. Death is sailing on the wind, it strokes at her shoulders and she feels the forgotten presence of all who are laid to rest here.
Beside her is a tangle of flora, In her lips she lifts a pale, three-petaled bloom and approaches the first stone.
On the guardian with sharp edges like teeth, she places a white trillium, a garland as noble as she.
On the compassionate mare with a surface smooth like a long flowing tail, she places three leaves of delicate maidenhair fern.
On the tallest patriarch, who overlooks them all and brings Gunnar to mind, she places a bundle of lavendar clovers, blooms so resilient they grow even in bitter grounds.
On the twin hearths richer in color than their siblings, she places two fiery, passionate tiger lilies.
On the trio of round gossiping auld wives, she places upon each a lively and laughing branch of bright red huckleberry.
On the oldest man who’s split in half and crumbling at his core, she places a violet deerhead orchid to symbolize a youthful mind.
On the fluted woman who is coiled like a viper to strike, she places the mariposa lily, a dangerous-looking deep purple, revered for its tenacity.
On the green man hiding in lichen, she places a single dogwood blossom, the color and shape of honesty.
On the swaying, graceful dancer, she places four playful yellow primroses, so she might have partners to dance with.
There is one monolith standing amid the others, notable in no way. Nothing but ordinary. On this stone, she places herself.
Even in death, the character of life is remembered.
Tauris is a visitor here,
and only for a time.
Kvarsheim does not own these stones.
They never belonged to wolves.
The stones found the pack;
it was never the other way around.
And when wolfkind
has vanished from this place,
and the visitors are gone,
the stones will find again.
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