It stood alone in the middle of the gravel with its lamps still in it, canvas walls breathing in the wind off the hills, and the family found their way back to it one by one without anyone calling a meeting. Doug was inside, finishing one last filing at the old table, and he made them all wait for it, because records had continuity or they had nothing.
For all intents and purposes, Eclipse was born in there.
The first roster had been signed on that table, Scarlet had been processed at it while four hundred strangers howled outside, and the routing-sheet night had burned through every one of those lamps until ten the next morning.
"Viking funeral," Luna proposed. "We torch it and push it into the crater. Warriors get sent off, that's the rule."
Calypso hefted the axe she had absolutely not needed to bring. "One clean swing. It would feel no pain."
"No," Vespera said.
One word, and the funeral was cancelled.
