They didn't attend the public funeral. But after the crowds had come and paid their respects, afterwards, they each came in their own time and paid their own private respects.

Briar had been last. When he arrived, and saw the grave, he almost chuckled. On top of the pile were three perfectly-thorned roses, of which he had brought one as well. "I hope you are at peace now, Rosethorn," he murmured as he laid his rose on her grave as well.

She stood outside Discipline, still as a statue. It had been a long time since her last visit her. Her dress was simple and black, slightly plainer than a more fashionable lady's might have been. She looked the part of the perfect lady, with a black parasol, and black shoes, each of her accessories expressing her state of mourning.

Next to arrive was the weary merchant girl with slightly frumpier black mourning clothes. Her copper curls had been tamed underneath the black scarf that covered it, and her black shawl was tucked tightly around her. Her spectacles were wet with tears. She didn't seem to startle the other girl, as she stepped beside her and waited patiently.

They were soon joined by a tall, dark girl in crimson. The Trader leaned on her staff with a casual grace and nonchalance, even as she seemed not to notice the girls that stood beside her. They stood there in silence, not quite an awkward silence yet not quite a comfortable one.

The silence lasted five, ten, fifteen minutes before the final member of the once-close quartet arrived. Although the other three had red eyes, those eyes were now dry. This boy's eyes were still suspiciously wet, his hair windblown and his clothing quite ratty.

They didn't speak to each other, didn't acknowledge each other, but when they finally moved, it was almost as one. They filed into the small cottage that was so familiar to them in complete silence.

Daja made the tea, gracefully, elegantly, quietly. The other three sat around the table and did not make eye contact, did not speak, and did not allow themselves to even think the thought that would lead to a train of painful memories.

Tris did not let herself close her eyes. If she would but close her eyes, she would be able to so easily pretend that it was years before, when she and her friends were young and innocent. Lark and Rosethorn would be serving the tea. They would be joking, and laughing, and talking. Perhaps Niko would be dining with them. Or Frostpine. If she let herself, Tris could daydream about the past. But she didn't. And so, of course, she wasn't startled out of her daydream by Briar's voice.

"Where are the plants?" His voice cracks on the last word. He would have stayed silent, if he could, but the absence of Rosethorn's plants bothered him too much, and pride was a luxury only Bags could afford, anyways.

"Lark moved them all to Rosethorn's room, in the last stages of her sickness," Sandry said in a low voice. 'Last stages' sounded like it meant days, or weeks. It had been hours. And Sandry had not been there, though she could have so easily, because Rosethorn had not wanted Sandry's last memories of her to be of a ghost of a woman confined to a bed. And so Sandry had not been informed.

Shouldn't she feel more sorrow? Some guilt, perhaps? Shouldn't Sandry feel something more than empty?

Four children walked in, interrupting Sandry's train of thought.

There were two boys and two girls, their features ranging the spectrum. They each wore novice's habits, not typical of Discipline residents, Sandry hadn't thought. Their habits each bore a symbol for a different element, and their faces each bore defensive, belligerent scowls.

"Who are you?" one demanded, the redhead, the girl.

"What are you doing in Discipline?" a boy asked, the blond one.

"Are you even listening to us? We're talking to you!" the other girl, the dark-haired one demanded.

"If you're not Dedicates, you have no right to be here. Even if you are Dedicates, this is Discpline, so you shouldn't be here anyways," the last one, the quiet boy with brunette hair, said gravely.

Daja had by now finished the tea. She poured a cup for she, Briar, Tris, and Sandry each. They ignored the children.

"Are you deaf or just dumb?" the dark-haired belligerent demanded.

"Pirelle!" the redhead scolded. "That's rude."

"They're the ones-" the aforementioned Pirelle began, but at this moment Lark and Niko entered the room.

"Lark!" the brunette said with a modicum of relief. He seemed relieved someone else would making the decisions.

"There are four strangers in this house, and they won't say a word!" She was obviously infuriated.

Lark and Niko exchanged significant glances.

"How did she die?" Briar wanted to know.

"Sandry can tell you," Niko said smoothly. "I know Moonstream told her. Haven't you asked?"

It was obvious that Niko and Lark weren't about to tell, so Briar reluctantly posed the question of Sandry, still without making eye contact. "How did she die?"

Sandry took a calming breath, not because she could feel any emotion but emptiness, but because the atmosphere in the room was getting to her. "It was natural disease. A fairly quick one. By the time she let the healers be summoned, the healers couldn't do anything but predict how long she had left to live." A short pause, then, "She had enough time to write a will, and make arrangements for her funeral." Sandry hesitated again, before adding on in a lower voice, "She gave orders that I was not to be told. She didn't want to worry me."

"She looked forward to the death, if it is any consolation," the boy with brunette hair offered.

Lark and Niko seemed to realize that the children were in the room for the first time. "Why don't you four visit Dedicate Gorse for now," Niko said in a firm voice.

The children seemed about to object, but saw Niko's somberness, and obediently scuttled off.

"Are they the latest students of Discipline?" Tris asked, half-casually.

"And, we hope, your students," Lark said gravely.

All four recoiled from shock.

"Pardon?" Sandry asked, aghast.

"Their specific situations, more than their specific powers, make you the perfect teachers," Niko said gravely. "We had hoped that the four of you would be able to connect with them with better luck than we have had."

Sandry was first to shake her head. "I'm sorry," she said in a tone both polite and distant. "Great-Uncle Vedris just has so much to do these days, and I need to supervise for him, and it just ..."

Tris and Daja looked as if about to repeat her refusals, both looking as if they'd rather swallow live coals than stay in this place so haunted with memories.

But Briar was in fact the next one to speak. "I'd be happy to," he said simply. "I have missed this place. And ... this is probably the best way to carry on Rosethorn's legacy."

Daja was next to acquiesce. "Briar ... has brought up a good point. It would be good to give back the teaching we once received."

Tris inclined her head. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

All three turned to watch Sandry, who did not meet their eyes. "I ..." her voice wavered. "If you ... wouldn't mind having me back ... I'd love to." Was something finally staving off the emptiness?"

Niko broke the silence. "Further arrangements can be made tomorrow. The four of you should rest." He and Lark walked out, and paused just outside the door.

"The Circle is almost whole again," Lark said, relieved.

"Almost."

To be continued ...