Long gone he is but his spirit remains, guarding the bones of loved ones lost. Invisible to my eye but seen in my mind still. Warrior perhaps or maybe a farmer whose crops failed in an ancient drought—leaving the women and the children to starve. Or more likely, a shaman wise in the ways of life and death—and what comes after. Yes, that is him. The speaker to spirits who has become one to whom he formerly entreated, seeking the life-giving rain. Those spirits failed him as he did his people in their time of need. Will he fare better in death, as a specter, in keeping away those who would disturb the precious remains of those people?