Spirits walk the night between this world and the next on All Hallows Eve. Kneeling in the cold, Daniel brushed the grit gently off the stone, fearing that the soul remembered here walked elsewhere. His hand rested on the smooth surface, oddly warm. Was the soul bound by the world of its birth or was it free to roam, this night at least?
Jack's hand came down onto his shoulder, warm too. "She knows, Daniel." The hand squeezed, stayed, drawing a line from earth to stone and back to the earth, holding them both, a circle made complete. "She knows."