Chapter 2
Miguel Howard’s body was never recovered, so we erected a memorial for him instead. With the help of the pack elders and neighbors, the funeral arrangements were swiftly made. As for the burial site, there was no need to choose—it would be in the Howard family plot in the east of the territory.
Since the news of Miguel’s death had reached us, his father hadn’t spoken a word, his pipe burning through one pouch of tobacco after another. His mother, Aniyah, had cried herself hoarse. Both were so grief-stricken they hadn’t eaten or drunk anything.
If I hadn’t lived through this once before, I would never have believed that in the midst of such profound sorrow, they could still find the energy to plot against me. This time, though, I saw it coming. I played my part just as I had before, dressed in mourning clothes, clutching Miguel’s belongings as I wept and placed them in the grave.
On the way back, Aniyah pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at my face. “Estella,” she said, her voice trembling, “now that Miguel has been laid to rest, it’s customary to offer a tribute at his grave tomorrow. We still have some supplies at home. Would you mind preparing them? It would mean so much.”
It was true that offering a tribute at a new grave was a tradition in our pack. But it didn’t have to be homemade—a simple gift from the market would suffice. Aniyah’s request for me to prepare the tribute through the night was a ruse to exhaust me, leaving me vulnerable when the rogue attacked the next day.
In my previous life, I had obeyed her, working tirelessly until dawn. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep, only to wake to the sound of a shattered window as the rogue tried to break into my room. This time, I wouldn’t be so easily caught.
“Mother, I’m afraid I can’t prepare the tribute,” I said, holding up my hand. “For some reason, after we finished the burial, my right hand went numb. I can’t seem to use it.”
“What? That won’t do!” Aniyah’s voice sharpened.
I looked at her, feigning surprise.
Ahead of us, Brody coughed, a subtle warning to her.
Aniyah’s tone softened again, heavy with sorrow. “Estella, I didn’t mean to sound harsh. It’s just… I wanted Miguel to have one last tribute made by his family.”
“I wanted that too,” I said, sighing. “But my hand isn’t cooperating. What else can I do?”
“Then… perhaps you could help me?” I suggested sweetly. “You’re his mother. He’d love a tribute made by you.”
“Me? Do it alone?” Aniyah hesitated.
I nodded innocently. “Of course, I wouldn’t let you stay up all night by yourself. I’ll keep you company, use my left hand to help where I can.”
“Fine,” Aniyah relented, though I could see the strain in her face.
The preparation area was in the yard. Back at the house, Aniyah gathered the materials. By evening, the air was heavy with grief, and neither Brody nor Aniyah could bring themselves to eat.
I, on the other hand, ate heartily, urging them to do the same. “Father, Mother, you need to eat. Miguel wouldn’t want you to starve yourselves while he’s on his journey to the Moon Goddess.”
Whether they listened or not, I didn’t care. I made sure I was fed.
After dinner, Aniyah and I went to the yard to start preparing the tribute. “Estella, is your hand still numb?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.
“Completely,” I said, sighing. “I’ve been using my left hand for everything, even eating.”
Aniyah sighed too, resigned to her fate, and began working. I used my left hand to assist, adding materials slowly to the preparation.
Every time Aniyah looked like she was tiring, I’d say, “Mother, you must be exhausted. Let’s take a break. I’m so sleepy I could doze off right here.”
Hearing this, she’d immediately speed up, insisting, “I’m not tired at all, Estella. Let’s keep going.”
By midnight, Aniyah was nodding off, her head bobbing. I yawned loudly. “Mother, we’ve prepared so much already. Isn’t this enough? Let’s finish the final touches so we can sleep. I’m so tired.”
Aniyah jolted awake. “This isn’t nearly enough! Miguel’s funeral was attended by so many from the pack. We’ll prepare enough tribute to share with everyone.”
“But Mother, I’m so sleepy. Seeing you nod off makes me even drowsier.”
“I’m wide awake,” Aniyah insisted. “Estella, if you’re tired, let’s talk. That’ll keep us both alert.”
“Alright,” I said, pretending to give in.
From then on, Aniyah worked even harder, not daring to doze off, afraid I’d take the opportunity to suggest going to bed. We worked through the night, and it wasn’t until late the next morning that the tribute was finally done.
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