[ Loki makes a quiet sound, lapsing into a fey moodiness. It has been years since his mother died, but what are years to a God? And his mother had dogged his footsteps of late, always always with that teary bright smile, as if Loki wasn't the cause of it, the final nail in her coffin. ]

We placed our warriors in barges as we let them drift into the expanse. The men would raise their arrows and set the barges on fire. They would become stardust and lifebreath. A silent whisper to the universe. For the most noble, people would carry orbs of memories. Thoughts. Hopes. They would lift those to the dark to light the way.