Greykin Valley

| 30 | Burial

⥐ ⋞ ☽ ⋟ ⥐

| Jackson |

As Brando, Tokala, Ezhno, and Lalo lowered Alastor's body into the ground, Jackson tried his best to keep it together. His heart was aching with guilt, but he attempted to focus on what Damon told him. This wasn't his fault...and no one blamed him.

He blamed him, though, just like he blamed himself for everyone else who died because he didn't know how to use or control his power. But he wouldn't be a burden anymore. He was going to be the pack member that Damon told him he was—he was going to be an asset.

Jackson took a deep breath and listened to the pack speak.

Everyone simultaneously said, "As we commit our fallen packmate to the ground, we plead to the Moon Goddess: take Alastor of the Grey Blood Pack into your eternal night. Let him join his ancestors, let his ethos be returned to the world it was born from, and let him live on in your embrace." Then, they all began howling.

"Is this a like...born wolves only thing?" Wilson whispered from beside Jackson.

Jackson, Wilson, Sebastien, and Julian were all sitting on the same log pile in their human forms, watching the burial.

"From what I know, there are several original wolf walker tribes out here," Sebastien said. "They're typically all born into the pack and come from the older bloodlines, so...yeah. They have different traditions and practices than other packs might, but like his ancestor, your Alpha is changing things up—for the better, I might add. I might not be a wolf walker, but I always hated seeing how Omegas were treated."

"Tell me about it," Julian grumbled.

The pack stopped howling. Then, they shifted into their human forms and began taking the scissors from the small medical kits in each of their bags.

"What are they doing now?" Wilson questioned.

Jackson frowned curiously when he saw Damon begin cutting his hair, and everyone else quickly did the same.

"I've seen Kane do this," Julian said quietly. "It's like...their hair is a physical manifestation of their spirit. Cutting it and stuff has a very strong meaning, and they bury it with their fallen loved ones."

That made Jackson's despondency grow. The fact that no one had hair longer than a few inches—even when he first arrived—proved that they were always losing their packmates. And now was evidently the first time in a while that they got to spend mourning. Every other time someone died, they had to run.

Once everyone finished cutting their hair, they placed it into Alastor's grave. Then, they backed off, giving Wesley space to approach his friend.

As Wesley placed his severed hair into the grave, he sniffled sullenly and scowled in dismay. "You were my best friend," he uttered, his voice breaking. "You were like a brother to me, and I'll never forget you or everything we did. I wouldn't be here without you, and now...now I don't really know what I'm supposed to do," he said with a painful laugh, listing his teary face towards the sky. "I don't know what to do."

"It's okay, Wesley," Rachel said softly, moving closer to him. "We're all here for you."

Wesley inhaled through his stuffy nose and wiped the tears from his face as he looked back down at Alastor. "I'm gonna miss you so much, man. I know we argued and didn't see eye to eye on everything, but at the end of every day, we could still laugh and make each other forget for a little while that we weren't in the middle of a shitstorm."