Entry: June 26, 654 A.E.

Late Afternoon

The Funeral

Today something happened that shook me to my core. One of the harpies—those pterodactyl-like predators—made a pass at Little Fuzzy. I shot it down, no question about that. But then the Fuzzies wanted to see it up close. We took it in the manipulator and dropped it a couple of miles up the run.

What I witnessed on that trip made me realize these aren't just clever animals. These are people.

The Fuzzies found where one of their own had been killed—probably by a predator. And they'd buried her. Built a little cairn of stones about eighteen inches by three feet, a foot high. When we opened it up, there was a female Fuzzy wrapped in grass, and they'd buried her prawn-killing tool with her.

I've prospected on a dozen planets, encountered all kinds of fauna. Animals don't bury their dead ceremonially. Animals don't place artifacts in graves. Only people do that. Only sapient beings who understand death, who mourn their lost ones, who perhaps believe in some kind of afterlife.

I sat there looking at that little grave and knew my life had just changed forever.