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Erirag Songcrafter did not have a hero's funeral. She didn't even have a casket. The elves leave pageantry for their own, after all. She was laid to rest deep within the very forest she'd fought to save. In a copse where the red boughs above had already started to lighten to colors of gold and lime, the fragrant ashes of incense smeared across her forehead, her grave was dug.

The birds sang hymns and if Erirag hadn't been still and quiet on the ground waiting for the shuffle and crunch of shovels in the dirt to stop she may have written something lovely. As it stood, not a word was spoken as pale, tall strangers lowered her into the pit. It was dark and cool there, where the sunlight filtering in a glow through the canopy couldn't reach.

One bladesinger paused over the hole and started to mutter a prayer. Another sighed and rolled his eyes, shoveling dirt down on the fallen orc. Nothing had risen in the forest since the Red Witch had died. The first singer let the incantation fade away, unsung, before he started helping to cover the corpse.

Under the watchful shadows of the trees, Erirag's last rites were lost to apathy.