SoD3 Flavor
Good folk are gonna die, sunfolk ain’t shedding tears
Little one, little one, bitter wind blown
I just stare at the sky, digging the graves each year
Little one, little one, bitter wind blown.
[x]
Being Adiart’s gravedigger isn’t an easy job, particularly in the winter.
Rebecca is used to it, now, used to seeing so many lives cut short by famine or plague or violence, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see mainstays of the castle dead, particularly when they died so gruesomely – one strung up in the rafters to slowly suffocate, the other ripped limb from limb and strewn in the courtyard.
“Here lies Greydragon,” she whispers to herself softly, trying to calm herself more than anything else. “He paid better than anyone else in the castle.” She swallows. “One time, he adopted an injured kitten, because he thought that it would starve otherwise. I don’t know – I don’t know who’s going to take care of it now–”
She shovels dirt over his body. Two deaths wasn’t enough that she would resort to just dumping everyone into a single mass grave. At least she can say that much.
“Here lies Appelsiini,” she whispers, turning to the other. “She was young, still, not even a proper Knight yet. But when she talked about her future, her eyes lit up like a candle. She was so excited, to finally be old enough even to be a Squire…”
She shovels dirt over Appelsiini’s body, too, humming a half-remembered tune to herself as she works. Little one, little one, why…