“Oh, yeah, the short one. He was a good guy,” agreed Ward. “Too bad about that guy.”

“Anyway,” continued Ralph, “I doubt this guy was as good as that guy, but maybe he was. Probably not. Probably was an asshole. But maybe not.”

A clap of thunder ended the ceremony.

“That was beautiful, Ralph.”

The two ogres loped their way toward the citadel to escape the threatening rain. The rumbling clouds swirled in the blackened sky. The wind howled, but the downpour never came, only a few drops.

The woman stood by Ned’s grave. She might’ve appeared there. Or just as possibly, she’d walked up unnoticed. She was a small, wiry figure with a bent back, dressed all in red.

Her cloak was crimson, her dress a sharp scarlet. Her long hair was sanguine, and her skin a pale cerise. A vermilion raven perched on her shoulder. She clutched a gnarled maroon staff in an equally gnarled hand. She raised it over her head and gathered the magic necessary to raise the dead.

Ned had been raised so many times that it was absurdly simple. One day, he might even rise without her help. For now, he still needed a nudge.

“Get up, lazybones.”

It wasn’t much of an incantation, but it was all that was required. The Red Woman stamped her staff on Ned’s grave. The clouds dissolved, and the air grew still. She waited.

An hour later, she still waited.

“He’s not coming up,” said the raven.

“He’s just being stubborn. He’ll get tired of sitting in the ground soon enough.”

Another hour later, he did. Ned had some experience digging himself out of graves, and it didn’t take long once he finally decided to claw his way to the surface. He wiped away the moist earth clinging to his clothes..

“Took you long enough,” remarked the raven.

Ned rubbed his sore neck. There was a crick in it now. That’d probably never go away. He always ended up with some such reminder after dying. There were so many now, one more didn’t make much difference.