Chapter 27 No.27

The grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps.

Dust on her breast, dust on her eyes,

The grey wind weeps.

Fiona Macleod.

* * *

Next day her grave was dug, there, upon that endless plain of silence. Eric had strewn the gaping hole with a lining of withered leaves, gathered from the weeping forest.

Before they hid he