The three of us walked back to the stones. It was midafternoon, and the sun was hot on my skin. I would swear the grass around us had grown in the few days since I had been out here last. Thanks to the funeral rites, there were almost no flowers left among the green blades, although a few buds were striving to take their place.
Then we reached the stones themselves. The grass was starting to recover from whatever had trampled it down in a spiral around the stones, bent stalks straightening and fresh shoots thrusting up through the dried remains of the broken grass. The coppery blood smell was gone from the air, leaving just the cleaner smell of dried grass.
I sat down with my back to the sun and pulled my sketchbook out of my bag. Mjolner curled up beside me, but for once didn"t promptly
