The Old Gods' help? He tried to remember. There had been something—a dance—a ritual—a chant, hadn't there?
"For the killing of demons."
The Chieftain was tired. It seemed that there was something important to remember. Hadn't.... What was it?
"Please, Father."
The old one wished the voice would go away because he was sleepy. Wasn't that the moonlight on his face?
"Pray," he said, dying.
After a time, Neju stood up. The Chieftain was very quiet.
He left the side of the dead and turned to the female waiting a short distance away. "After the moon has taken his soul tonight, prepare him for the funeral. His soul is very quiet as it waits. And there is no need to disturb him."
Pray, the old one had said. The moon came down full, splintering beams on a tangle of branches overhead. The old Chieftain was covered with the ceremonial cloak of fur and by his side the formal mourner buried her head in her hands, rocked back and forth intoning musically, "Ah, ahhhhha, ah, ah."