Post by Victor Adelai on Dec 13, 2010 21:04:45 GMT -8
The scene was somber in the lands to the South of the Caern. The children of Hummingbird had gathered in their newly built graveyard deep in the woods off the Issaquah bluff. Not that many would recognize the place for an honored entombment of the dead. Here, a half dozen or more scaffolds had been erected nearly nine feet off the ground. They were woven from the local trees and planted on four mighty planks running deep into the earth. Here is where the honored dead would lay.
Only one of the scaffolds bore any decoration, and it was around this raised construct that the Pack now gathered. The pillars had been carved with images depicting the brief life of the lupus they had come to lay to rest. Images of trash heaps and pizza boxes mingled with powerful spirits who had inclines their head to the young wolf. There were images of battles fought and opponents he had made war upon. Images of happy times and sad. The pillars were still mostly barren. Perhaps the greatest tragedy.
The body of Buddy Rat-Friend had been cleaned, not a small task in it's own right. The knots and gnarls combed from his fur. Paints of the purest blue now decorated him in a somber fashion. A raw elk skin was tied against him tightly with beads and other ornate things jingling lightly against the still frame.
A heavy sigh goes through the Uktena presiding over the burial. Most of this was woman's work, but none here knew the rites so it had fallen to him. Not glorious, but honorable none the less. He stared down at the Packmate slain so ingloriously that was now decaying at his feet and he sighed again softly. Buddy had died fighting a Bane, at least that could be said of his dignity.
"Goodbye, Buddy Rat-Friend. You had more courage then most," he says softly. "I will look for you in the Hunting Ground that lay beyond this world."
A shroud of red is pulled over the body, the skin, the ornaments. It is tied with thongs of leather. The parcel is lifted easily and placed upon the woven branches. The lowest funeral scaffold now carried it's heaviest burden.
A moment of silence is observed before Lightbringer turns to face the Northern Wind. Casting his arms wide, his rough voice lifts upward. The only gift he bore of his mother he bequeathed to the dead: a lullaby.
After the winds have eaten the words and even the bones of silence are bare, the angry figure turns and slips into the world of spirits. The nearest spirit he finds is addressed with bitter authority.
"A great warrior of my people once said 'My lands are where my dead lie honored'. Let it be known."
Only one of the scaffolds bore any decoration, and it was around this raised construct that the Pack now gathered. The pillars had been carved with images depicting the brief life of the lupus they had come to lay to rest. Images of trash heaps and pizza boxes mingled with powerful spirits who had inclines their head to the young wolf. There were images of battles fought and opponents he had made war upon. Images of happy times and sad. The pillars were still mostly barren. Perhaps the greatest tragedy.
The body of Buddy Rat-Friend had been cleaned, not a small task in it's own right. The knots and gnarls combed from his fur. Paints of the purest blue now decorated him in a somber fashion. A raw elk skin was tied against him tightly with beads and other ornate things jingling lightly against the still frame.
A heavy sigh goes through the Uktena presiding over the burial. Most of this was woman's work, but none here knew the rites so it had fallen to him. Not glorious, but honorable none the less. He stared down at the Packmate slain so ingloriously that was now decaying at his feet and he sighed again softly. Buddy had died fighting a Bane, at least that could be said of his dignity.
"Goodbye, Buddy Rat-Friend. You had more courage then most," he says softly. "I will look for you in the Hunting Ground that lay beyond this world."
A shroud of red is pulled over the body, the skin, the ornaments. It is tied with thongs of leather. The parcel is lifted easily and placed upon the woven branches. The lowest funeral scaffold now carried it's heaviest burden.
A moment of silence is observed before Lightbringer turns to face the Northern Wind. Casting his arms wide, his rough voice lifts upward. The only gift he bore of his mother he bequeathed to the dead: a lullaby.
After the winds have eaten the words and even the bones of silence are bare, the angry figure turns and slips into the world of spirits. The nearest spirit he finds is addressed with bitter authority.
"A great warrior of my people once said 'My lands are where my dead lie honored'. Let it be known."