He was a pale thing. He was shivering. The trees around them gave off a pungent scent, a sharp earthy citrus that mingled with the rotting mushrooms, that beat down the softer aroma of the brown and amber leaves. The sky was white. The forest was quiet. The pale thing hid it’s face under a moth eaten sheet- the fabric was decorated with a repeating print pattern – dandelions.

There was a man, a woman, a pale thing inside the fairy ring. Surrounding the three was a circle of yellow tulips that lived in spite of the small patches of snow, that survived against the laws of the seasons. It was this and many other clues that’d lead the two of them here, they’d been in search of a corner of the earth just like this one; a place of excess and extraordinary wyrd.

The two of them knelt in front of the cloth.

Are you listening?

Neoleon Egar Bristle. A son who unflinchingly showed dedication to his burden and unerring patience to all he’d know. May his soul never be disturbed from it’s rest. 4404-4427.

Harleen Rembvistril Bress. A daughter who without reservation braved storms and gave all mercy to those in the wake of disaster. Her compassion for those whom were in loss will forever be remembered. May her soul never be disturbed from it’s rest. 4403-4427.

The pale thing stood between their tombs. Dandelions swayed above it’s strange tongue. It moved its hind legs, kicked like a cow. Half of the Harleen’s grave was cut away by its hoof.

Do you want to know?