“Is it enough?” I croaked out.
“Think so,” Gavin whispered. “Send him back to the moon. Run with wolves.” He laughed quietly. “Shape-shifters. That’s what he always said.”
I carried Will. He was wrapped in a white blanket. The clouds were gray, and snow was coming. I led the procession through the forest to the clearing. My pack was behind me. The people of Green Creek followed, their heads bowed.
I laid him on the pyre as gently as I could, taking care with his head.
I stood above him for a long time, trying to find the words. It felt too big, too important.
Eventually I said, “He was my friend. And he was pack. He gave himself to protect those he loved. I will never forget him.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek through the sheet.
Joe lit the fire. I couldn’t do it.
The wood was a little wet, but it caught.
I stepped back.
The pyre burned.
Will burned.
And as the fire reached up toward the sky, it began to snow. I told myself it was a sign.
I turned my face toward the sky.
I howled.
The others joined in.
As our voices rose, as the smoke mingled with the falling snow, we sang our friend home.
ROBERT LIVINGSTONE WASN’T GIVEN the same honor.
He didn’t deserve it.
And yet….
“He was our father,” Gordo said. He looked as exhausted as we all felt, but he seemed lighter somehow, even more so than after he and Mark found each other again. He was unshackled. Free. “Regardless of what else he did, I can’t ignore that.” He looked to the only other person who should have had any say in the matter.
Gavin looked down at his hands. “I can’t forget. Or forgive.”
“I know,” Gordo said. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “And I don’t know that you have to. I could have….” He shook his head. “I could have been like him. Followed the same path.”
Gavin jerked his head up, eyes flashing orange. “You’re not. You’re not bad. Not like him. Good Gordo.” Then, “Mostly.”
Gordo snorted. “Thanks. I think.” He sighed. “What do you want to do?”
In the end, it was simple. Deep in the forest, they found one of the oldest trees that grew in our territory. They dug the hole themselves. It wasn’t like it was with Will. There were no pretty words, no songs to be sung. It was dirt and sweat. No one cried. As Livingstone was lowered into the ground, the rest of us stood at a distance, watching Gavin and Gordo stand above their father’s body.
Gavin bent over, scooping up a handful of dirt from the ground. He held it over the open grave, let it sprinkle down onto his father’s body. He kissed Gordo on the cheek but didn’t leave him. He waited.
Gordo stood above his father for a long time.
Then he said, “You tried. You really tried, didn’t you? But you failed.” His chest hitched. Mark started forward, but Mom stopped him, shaking her head. “You failed,” Gordo said again, voice hoarse.
We let the brothers go. They walked away through the trees, side by side.
Rico and Chris and Tanner filled in the grave.