The road narrowed into a path, and it wound in and out of trees, seemingly without direction, before it skirted around a low hill that pushed up the trees. It must have created a gap in the overhead canopy, for light shone through and brightened the area around the hill.

"Here we are," Maun said.

Severance looked around, more than a little baffled. Weren't they in the middle of a forest? There was nothing else in sight.

Maun didn't appear concerned by this. He kept walking down the path, which took a sharp turn towards the hill. Following his example, Severance followed.

Once he reached the sudden turn in the path, however, he began to understand. Someone had dug out a narrow tunnel through the hillside. Roughly seven feet tall and three feet wide, it allowed a single person to comfortably walk through. It was through this short tunnel that the path led.

Daylight lit the other side, showing how multiple tree roots lined the tunnel walls, holding the earth at bay. Fresh wounds on these roots gave away that they were regularly trimmed back to keep them from growing into the tunnel itself.

Severance followed Maun through this space, slightly curious despite the knot in his throat and the tightness in his chest. And then they came out the other end and all his questions vanished like smoke in the wind.

The inside of the hill had been hollowed out to create a valley. From the far side of this little valley, the ground rose into a great, gently sloping hill. It had been cleared of any trees, with only grass and a dark, almost black wildflower permitted to grow. In the absence of trees, the sun reached down to bathe the entire area in its soft, warm light.

But Severance hardly noticed these things. His attention was grabbed by the black steles planted into the slope. Placed in seven straight rows, they covered the entire slope of the hill. There had to be close to a hundred, if not more. It looked like an eerie graveyard, but with giant looming tombstones.

He stared at them for a bit, then dropped his gaze to the little valley before him. The entire clan was here, standing motionlessly in solemn silence. A few turned to acknowledge Maun and Severance's arrival, but not a single word was said.

It was unsettling, and Severance had the sudden urge to run back out through the tunnel. What was this place? Why was everyone here? He didn't like it.

As if sensing his thoughts, Maun stepped close and laid a hand lightly on Severance's back. Leaning in, he spoke very softly so that only Severance could hear.

"This is the Memorial Ground of our Clan. It is a place of remembrance, of silent reflection. The stones you see hold the names of those we've lost. Our entire lineage is recorded here, going right back to the origin of each Branch family." Maun pointed to one of the steles at the front, right at the bottom of the hill. It was around this one that most of the Clan clustered.

"That is the newest stone of my Branch," Maun went on. "As Rasin is one of mine, I'll engrave his name myself."

From this distance, Severance could see that most of the stele's face was bare. A few names had been written on its surface near the top, but he couldn't read them. Behind this stele stretched a long row of many, many others, going all the way to the top of the hill.

Just how many names were written in this place?

He reached out instinctively to find Vast's soft head. His fingers brushed against a velvety ear, which twitched beneath his touch. With a soft whuff, Vast leaned his weight gently against Severance.

"It's our custom for every clan member to bear witness," Maun gently patted his back. "And you are a member of this clan, Sev. Rasin would have wanted you to be here."

There was that stupid water in his eyes again. Sev swiped at his eyes with his free hand, while his other hand slid down Vast's neck to curl tight into the thicker fur there. The lump in his throat wouldn't let him speak, so he nodded.

"Thank you." Maun gave him a small smile, both grim and proud and sorrowful all at once, and then strode forward. The clan parted before him, revealing a clear path to the stele.

Agadhi was there, as was Olen, and Nedra and Mouna—many familiar faces were there, and Severance was distantly surprised at how many he recognized. There were a few he didn't know, one of them belonging to a woman with brown hair and light blue eyes; she didn't look like one of the Veiled, but she must have been one if she was here. She was the only one who glanced over and looked directly at Severance.

She gave a gentle, understanding smile, and that only brought a new wave of heavy guilt. He averted his gaze immediately, jaw clenching tight to keep any sound locked up tight. Why had Maun brought him here?

He didn't want this. He didn't belong here. Didn't anyone know that he was the reason Rasin had died?

He wanted to run. He almost did. But then he remembered Maun's smile and quiet thank you and his feet refused to move. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened painfully around the handful of fur he clung to. Vast just leaned harder, forcing Severance to brace himself or be knocked over.

No words were spoken.

A heavy, solemn silence filled the place, even though the sun shone bright and the birds sang, and some cricket-like bug chirped in the grasses. It would have been peaceful if it were any other circumstance.

Agadhi handed a thin metal rod to Maun. Maun took it with a grave nod of acceptance. He turned to where Kamau held a flaming torch. The grim-faced Battle Commander looked even more grim today as he offered the torch.

Rather than take it, Maun dipped the end of the metal rod into the flames. He held it there for a long time. The metal glowed red, then orange, slowly heating. When it was white-hot, Maun withdrew it. An odd blue smoke wafted from its heated tip.

Even odder was the fact that Maun held the non-glowing end in his bare hands. Didn't metal conduct heat? How was his skin not burning?

As the entire clan watched, Maun approached the foremost stele of his Branch. He held the glowing metal rod like it was a pencil, though his grip was far back from the glowing tip. Beneath the last name on the stele, Maun pressed the rod into the stone and drew.

More blue smoke rose from the contact. The heated rod ate into the stone like butter, leaving behind a blackened indent that formed a flowing text that Severance couldn't read.

Yet knowing it was the name of the man who'd treated him so kindly, so generously, who stood and fought for him even though it caused his death—knowing that was enough.

Severance's eyes welled and his vision swam. Rasin. Thank you. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!

Maun stepped back from the stele. He'd finished. The rod had faded back into orange now, most of its heat spent. He held it out to Agadhi, who carefully received it.

The entire clan stood silently for a long moment, each gazing solemnly at the stele. No one cried outwardly, but the pain was there, hovering about them like a writhing smog. It could have been a couple of seconds. Or it could have been an hour. Severance had no way of telling, for to him, it was an eternity.

He didn't want to be here. It hurt to look at the grief displayed before him, a heavy, overbearing thing that was uttered not by voice but shown in reserved expressions, in enduring silence. It crushed him beneath its unforgiving, relentless presence.

Someone finally moved. It was Dhin, walking out of the midst of the clan to stand before the stele. He stared at his father's name, then reached up to tenderly trace the inscription with his fingertips.

Severance flinched, feeling like he'd been socked in the gut. Only Vast kept him upright, with Severance leaning on the animal as much as Vast did him.

At the stele, Dhin lowered his hand. Slowly, he lifted his face to the sun, eyes closed, and let tears slip down his cheeks. Then he opened his mouth and began to sing.

It was a wordless, wavering note that shook with the pain of loss. It was raw and ugly, more of a wail than anything else. Then the second note came, deeper, just as raw, but a little louder, stronger. And it continued, pausing only for Dhin to take a breath. He poured his heart out into each sound, and as time passed, the overwhelming sorrow lessened. It became dampened by something else, a sense of pride, of respect, an ocean of love and gratitude.

And then, one by one, everyone joined in. It should have been a cacophony of sound, with so many different emotions and voices being poured into the mix, but it wasn't. Each new voice added a layer of harmony to Dhin's song, blending feelings, joining hearts, remembering who and what Rasin was to each of them, until it wasn't just Dhin's song anymore. It was the clan's.

It was beautiful.

Sometime during the singing, Severance had sunk to the ground. Now he sat with Vast lying beside him. He'd wrapped both arms around Vast's furry neck and held the vastlhidan's head in his lap. It couldn't have been comfortable for Vast, but the animal didn't seem to mind. He merely whined softly and curled his tail around them both.

Eventually, the clan began to fall silent. And then it was only Dhin again, his voice hoarse and raspy, but it felt different, now. There was a sadness and resignation present—for no loss came without its price—but it was the song of a man who accepted this awful blow dealt him and was ready to carry the memory of his father onwards and forwards into whatever life would bring next, though with a new scar carved upon his heart.

When Dhin finally fell silent, the gloomy air of the valley felt a little lighter, perhaps even a bit hopeful. Severance sat in a stunned sort of daze, still trying to understand what had just happened. It was like the entire clan took the time to bewail their loss together. And now that it was done, they could begin to heal.

It was so very different from what he'd experienced with the loss of his uncle. He'd struggled alone, drowning and lost, and if it hadn't been for Mrs Beakor, Tripp and Jake, he wasn't sure if he'd ever have managed to crawl out of that dark hole. Yet here was the clan, grieving together, healing together, supporting one another as one big unit.

He felt even more like an Outsider at this moment. How could he be part of something so amazing as that? Sure, the Veiled had made him welcome, but how could they still accept him when he was the cause of such pain?

If he hadn't joined them, if he hadn't been so stupid, Rasin would still be alive.

He tightened his hold around Vast and buried his face in silver fur. In that moment, Eliona was painfully real.