The sun was just beginning to rise over the tallest hill Matope claimed before they spiked into the mountains beyond. It was a wet and weary sun, sending its ray to splash across the grass and stone and earth with a weak and watery light. A light mist clung to the base of the hill and its brethren, weaving between them like a lazy brook.The Zikwa who stood atop this hill was far from lazy, however. In fact, she had been working hard though out the night. Her eyes were dark and heavy, their glowing dim, exhausted. Her long, free-flowing mane and tail had gathered bit of dirt and debris while she had worked. Despite her exhaustion, the tall doe smiled. It was a sad smile, but a true one nonetheless.
Before her, seven stones stood over dark, recently turned earth. It had taken her all night to carry them up this huge hill and nearly two days previously to put their bodies to rest.
Her first trip above ground had not gone as planned. No, not quite. Her group now slept beneath the stones and she herself was helplessly lost, but the memories this trip had made.
She spent the day gathering materials; Berries and herbs and flowers and fruit and all sorts of things. All day she spent bringing up these things and when the sun sank down, Remembrance did what came naturally to her.
She spoke to the dead.
She spoke to each stone as she piled smaller ones on top, carefully balancing them on top of one another. She whispered prayers of safe passage as she painted the large stones with the runes of the kin who slept beneath and depicted stories in mud and berry stain. With every flower placed before them, she shared a memory with the dead. They laughed and cried and sang together and yet her voice was the only one atop this hill.
And when the sun rose once more, only the seven lonely stones remained.