"What's that?" Darc demanded, reaching for the scroll that Kharg held.

"Traditional Drakyr funeral prayer," Kharg said, pulling his arm away quick enough that Darc claimed only air. "I went to the Drakyr village to ask if there was any... proper way to do this."

"The proper way is the way that gets it done," Darc replied as he crossed his arms. "My father... our father left the Drakyr. So why would a silly prayer..."

"Funerals," Kharg interrupted, "are for the living."

"Exactly, so..." Darc trailed off, snatching again at the scroll. "I don't quite see the point of all of this. They'll never know."

"They'll know," Kharg said. "That after nearly twenty years, they're together again."

"Sentimental human."

"It's a beautiful prayer," Kharg commented, finally handing the scroll to Darc.

And then he left the house, not looking back. He knew his solitude would be fleeting - Darc always came to make noise. Or he felt the need to be near Darc for some ridiculous reason.

Either way, as he slipped to where a second, fresher grave rested beside his mother's, he couldn't help the warmth he felt. Even if they had to wait until death, finally his mother and... father were together again.

Darc's voice was strong behind him, reading words aloud that he'd only sounded in his head. But in Darc's harsh tones, they sounded quite natural. The Drakyr funeral prayer.

For all the trouble they'd gone through to move their father's body to Yewbell, as Darc's voice rose above the wind, Kharg knew that every screaming match, fistfight and bruise was well worth it.

He only hoped that Darc felt a little less incomplete as well.