Shakar’s hand grew limp and hung like a piece of rope. His remaining eye was glazed over. The caravaneer had set off on his last journey. The light of the Evening Stars shone down on the silver road in front of him, the path that would lead him to the home of his ancestors.
Shakh, wiping away his tears, waved his hand. Coils of sand burst from the earth. They wrapped around Shakar’s body like a golden shroud, lifted it above the stretcher, and a moment later, they buried the body underground. Such was the custom in Shakh’s town — they buried their dead in the ground.
Getting back up, Shakh secured his uncle’s scabbard to his back.
“Here is Rahaim’s letter.” He held out a scroll to Hadjar.
“My condolences for your loss.” Hadjar said sincerely.
He really did sympathize with Shakh.
