She stands statue still behind a tree, masked and wearing black, unblinking.
"Is she death?" My sister's child asks, pulling at my sleeve.
I take his hand, watch his eyes and smile sweet. "No dear. She is human, like us. We all respond to death in unique ways. This is just her way."
He nods. He will ask no more, but he does not believe me. He watches the woman throughout the burial. When it is all done, I see him march over to her. I let him go, but stay close. He will soon learn what I already know.
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