Out on the plains, where the grass grows sparsely and the beasts graze rarely, the horizon stretches away into the stars, brushing infinity. No one goes there anymore. Only the wind stirs there now, fluting voicelessly through the long grasses, uselessly. Nobody hears.
Out on the plains there stands a long, abandonned cart of wood greying, splintering, the ropes hanging loosely fraying, swaying, sand tying the wheels down with knots of grass.
In the cart lies a long, blue stone.
When the Starmen came they asked about the stones. Gurd, that wily queen of the Old Mountains, answered them as we stood in the shadow of a stone outside the city.
“It is a temple for Regard,” she said.
The Starmen tilted their heads back to look up at the full height of the stone beside us.
“Across your entire land?” they asked. “Your're raising pillars like this for your temple across your entire land?” It was strange to watch them talking because their mouths did not form the words we heard.
“Regard is the Mother,”Gurd explained, patiently, as she might have explained to her little ones. “We are all her children, and therefore it is fitting that her temple should span the land, so linking us all.”
The Starmen looked at the size of the stone, and back at us, and they laughed. They laughed and they laughed where they stood in the shadow of that stone outside the city.
And that is where we buried them.