faint stars waited. Jamie lifted his head, touched with fire as bright as the blaze by his feet, and looked toward the west, where the souls of the dead fly away. He spoke softly, in Gaelic, but all of us knew enough by now to follow. “Thou goest home this night to thy home of winter, To thy home of autumn, of spring, and of summer; Thou goest home this night to thy perpetual home, To thine eternal bed, to thine eternal slumber. The sleep of the seven lights be thine, O brother, The sleep of the seven joys be thine, O brother, The sleep of the seven slumbers be thine, O brother, On the arm of
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Funeral
