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The bright little floating candle flickers on the gentle rolling of the ocean, drifting farther and farther out toward the horizon, away from the bare-foot prints on the soft sand.
“And you do this every year?” Warriors asks, watching the bright spot get smaller and smaller, lighting up the darkness, until it finally topples under a stronger wave and goes out entirely.
“Whenever I’m down here,” Wind says, somber for once, voice tight. He tries to pass off wiping the tears on his face as pushing windswept hair from his forehead. “I try to make it once a decade. She—they all deserve that, at least.”