Indeed, this is the concern which grows too in my heart. For well do I know the appearance of wounds inflicted by the arms of men, and none else could cause lacerations so precise as these. I know not, however, who could have cause to murder these our hosts, whether from among our crew or the Nalawi themselves.
[So speaking, he stands once more and turns to Olivia, whose distress is as obvious as the clouds which pass over the sun and steal away its light. His touch upon her arm is light when he ushers her away from the grim display of death. He does not intend to mitigate whatever grief fills her breast, however, for mourning is a ritual demanded by his people: it shows not weakness of the heart, but strength of compassion.]
Need you time to mourn? Then pound your fist upon your breast and tear at your hair, for there will be time enough while I dig for these Nalawi their grave. Perhaps there will be time enough too for the fathers and mothers, the brothers and sisters, the husbands and wives, to learn that their dear ones have been torn away in the storm, and they shall seek the truth of what happened. Then we may at least learn the names of those lost.
[There is a moment where he appears as if he might object, but there is something in her eyes which brings him to instead give a solemn nod. Up the shore, amidst the wind-whipped wreckage, he manages to find some manner of garden trowel, which he passes to her. Further searching will yield a shovel of his own.
They find a quiet spot back from the shore and away from the huts where cloven-footed men and women bustle try again to piece together their shaken lives. There in the shaded shelter of a grove Achilles sets to breaking the storm-softened ground. It is slow work but even as his muscles tire he does not pause. There will be no reprieve for the dead nor for him until they are granted proper burial.
When at last the bodies are given unto the bosom of the nourishing earth, he bids Olivia to fetch stones with which to mark the grave, one for each body lain to rest therein. He will hunt for a matching bounty of the diminutive boar-like creatures he has seen rooting through the underbrush on this island, that he might slit their throats before the grave and with the spilling of their blood offer up prayers. Such a ritual does not quite fit the orthodox mold, but it is what he can offer to the fallen of this unfortunate race.]
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forever later...
[So speaking, he stands once more and turns to Olivia, whose distress is as obvious as the clouds which pass over the sun and steal away its light. His touch upon her arm is light when he ushers her away from the grim display of death. He does not intend to mitigate whatever grief fills her breast, however, for mourning is a ritual demanded by his people: it shows not weakness of the heart, but strength of compassion.]
Need you time to mourn? Then pound your fist upon your breast and tear at your hair, for there will be time enough while I dig for these Nalawi their grave. Perhaps there will be time enough too for the fathers and mothers, the brothers and sisters, the husbands and wives, to learn that their dear ones have been torn away in the storm, and they shall seek the truth of what happened. Then we may at least learn the names of those lost.
me dos
but she only shakes her head, glancing back up at him to fashion a brave smile. ]
I'll help you dig, [ she insists. ] It... wouldn't feel right to just walk away.
shall we wrap this up here?
They find a quiet spot back from the shore and away from the huts where cloven-footed men and women bustle try again to piece together their shaken lives. There in the shaded shelter of a grove Achilles sets to breaking the storm-softened ground. It is slow work but even as his muscles tire he does not pause. There will be no reprieve for the dead nor for him until they are granted proper burial.
When at last the bodies are given unto the bosom of the nourishing earth, he bids Olivia to fetch stones with which to mark the grave, one for each body lain to rest therein. He will hunt for a matching bounty of the diminutive boar-like creatures he has seen rooting through the underbrush on this island, that he might slit their throats before the grave and with the spilling of their blood offer up prayers. Such a ritual does not quite fit the orthodox mold, but it is what he can offer to the fallen of this unfortunate race.]
no i want at least twenty more tags each