"We tell their stories every tenday rest," Furiosa says quietly, entering the clearing with soft, respectful steps. She's carrying a little roll of green fabric, and she's here to talk to Hazel moreso than the dead, but the question does get her thinking.

"Remembering war boys who died in battle was always important at the Citadel," she says. "But it's good that there's less urgency to join them these days. And more than just them that get commemorated."

She offers out the fabric in her arms. It's the size of a wide scarf, or a table runner, homespun and dyed with plant dye, for certain, but there are little childrens' handprints on it in red and gold and orange paint. Like leaves. "The Dag asked me to bring you this. Her daughter and some of the other children that sort seeds with her wanted to thank you for your gifts."

There's a wry smile on her face. Whether Hazel has any use for arts and crafts she's carrying, she sort of doubts, but it was meant with affection and genuine gratitude, and Furiosa can't help but be a little proud of the children that participated.