He was startled awake, feeling a presence.

The moon was a crisp, autumn gold, full, shining down upon the clearing.

" My daughter," he heard a woman's voice calling, thin and trembling. " My daughter, have you seen my daughter...?"

He hadn't expected to see any people around this place. Barring the overgrowth of plants, it looked nearly the same as it had when he had left it.

Peeking around, he searched for the woman calling. She seemed to be repeating herself, her words drifting around Sif in the moonlight.

At last he caught sight of her- and was taken aback.

The woman was drenched in blood, her throat slit and her face gaunt. Her footsteps made no sound as she walked between the houses, asking for her daughter.

But did he not know this woman?

Not thinking about it, he meowed at her, and walked forward.

She stopped in her tracks, and turned around.

" A voice...?" she questioned. " Have you seen..."

She trailed off as she saw Sif, looking down on him with confusion as blood ran into her dark grey dress.

" Ysout's kitten..." she said, her brow creasing. " Who has gone and doused you in coal ash?"

She bent down and brushed his fur, trying to wipe it away.

" Have you seen your master, little one?" she asked. " I cannot find her anywhere... Dear Ysout..."

Sif blinked up at her. This was his strange thing's mother?

She had been trapped as a ghost, looking, all this time...

She seemed to be growing distressed, trying to wipe the soot from his fur, so he meowed at her and took a few steps away, urging her to follow.

" Oh, you do know! I should have known it would only be her cat that knew..." she said, gliding along behind him as he went to the row of graves. " Everyone else... Ah, it's no good, Finní, I can only think of poor Ysout... It's almost time for supper, and she's yet to eat..."

Sif himself had no idea how to identify which of the graves belonged to his strange thing, as so much time had passed and he had not seen her buried. He hoped that her mother would be able to sense something he couldn't.

" I know I have denied you your scraps, with this hard winter, but once we have collected Ysout, I shall give you what I can of our trimmings..." She seemed to notice for the first time that she was walking alongside the graves, and looked down at him, confused. " Why would my Ysout be here, dear cat? These are graves..."

Sif meowed plaintively at her, a bit frustrated his plan wasn't working. They had almost made a full round of the graves.

But as they came upon the last one, she stopped, and tears began to well in her eyes.

" Oh," she said.

" I feel as if... a fog is lifting," she said, and looked around her. " It's spring? And here, here is..."

She tipped forward, as though on a pivot, her arms outstretched. The wound on her neck staunched, and then healed, as she fell into the grave.

" Ysout!" she cried, delighted.

And then she was gone.

Sif sat down, looking at the mound. Wildflowers grew across it.

He had not been back here in so long.

It was where his life had began.

He silently said a prayer for Ysout, and her mother, and slept beside them.

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