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  • It is a grey day in the middle of nowhere; the cold breeze stirs the slicing blades of grass.

    A distant storm steadily approaching from the East and atop the tallest mountain a gloomy crowd gathers to sing to the lost.
    The loneliest music eases its way out of the pipes soothing the shaking hearts of those that are mourning.

    One by one they step forth, a single stone in their hand. They take a moment to calm themselves and drive their anguish into the stone and as if clinging to the best moment of their entire lives they gently place the stone on top of the burial ground and give way for the next to participate.

    The Knocking of Stone upon stone beats a beat of death bringing life into a powerful chant as a maiden steps forward eyes wide with fear holding in her tight grasp a grey pebble and places it at the head of the grave stating that the seed of a new beginning for the people will grow from this warriors body – a foundation of which a better future be built upon. Reassuring the warrior that what was fought for is not lost.

    The chant now with rapaciously growing power deepens as a mother walks forward now, eyes weeping. With eternal Love in her heart, the hard emptiness of Loss written on her face as she fights hard to place a perfectly round white stone next to the pebble, representing that the memory of the lost will live on forever, giving birth to a new beginning.

    The once deep and powerful chanting ready to explode is sealed as it lowers into whispers of prayer as the old Crone now steps forth, her walking stick holding her weight, not a tear in her eyes as she has seen much life and much death. Where the tears used to be remains a painful expression of sorrow and hope reaching out of her eyes. From her shaky hands she reveals a stone of black. She places the stone beside the other two; unifying the stones together as the way of life and to leave a warning to outsiders not to step onto the grave as it is sacred. If such a thing where to happen the soul would be awoken without purpose and in turn torment the disturber of peace.

    As the tears cease to flow from the crowd the darkening sky takes over and cries for them, thunder rumbling the sad pipes to a deadly stop.
    The people, turning away now a new spark of hope growing within their souls.

    And as if they are the ghosts of life itself they leave behind them a stone memorial given to the winds of change to shape.
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