The fact that Luna's face was hidden above her did not escape Deathwright's notice as she headed to the Tur, her brands glowing in the night sky as the only source of light. Flame of Man's grave was given a brief, severe nod from the Irraka as she settled herself, waiting patiently on the grass.
Around her, a cool winter breeze blew, so much colder than the air of Sacramento in the world of humans. But here, winter was a concept, a real, vivid, living thing. The season was here, and everyone knew it should be cold, so therefore it was.
The Irraka smiled, showing her teeth to the hidden face of Luna, and waited to see who would answer the call.