17
A fat cloud drifted in front of the sun, its edge suddenly blazing with silver light. But for all its glory, it left this grassy hilltop on the outskirts of Syral in gloom. A fitting place for a funeral.
Perhaps a hundred people stood on that hilltop, forming a semi-circle around a man in white robes who stood behind a freshly-planted sapling. He was pale with a thin ring of gray hair around the back of his head and glasses on his face. “We have come together today to honour Tanaben Loranai,” he began. “I know that Tanaben was not religious, but at the request of his parents, Maresia and Voral, I will say a few words.”
It was killing Jack to be here; his shame was eating away at him, but that was no excuse to miss a dear friend's funeral. He just prayed that no one in Ben's family tr
