The body of Kian was not buried. It was covered.
Vines grew over him while the village watched. They didn't weep. They sang. A low, humming chant that matched the vibration of the cane. The vines wove a shroud of green leaves and white flowers. They pulled the earth up around him. Not to hide him. To hold him.
Elian stood at the edge of the circle. He held the cane. It felt heavier now. The warmth of Kian's hand was fading. The warmth of the wood was taking over.
He was twelve years old. Small for his age. Thin. But his eyes were old. They had seen the cliff. They had seen the passing. They had seen the vines move without wind.
The singing stopped. The vines stopped growing. They rested. A mound of green in the circle of stones.
The Elder stepped forward. She was very old. Her skin wa
