when a fire starts to burn

And when that sky rains fire on you
And you're persona non grata

The funeral pyre sat in the midday sun, surrounded by the mourning family and friends of Rhiannon Cassidy. She was a soldier who had fallen in the line of duty, or so Nina had heard. The exact details of the girl's death were lost on the Keeper; she cared little for such things, preferring to focus on the upcoming ritual instead. Perhaps it made her cold or distant, but if she were to fall apart at every death in Halo, what kind of spiritual leader would she be?

So she stood back from the pyre, her companion at her side. The little fireball hissed and spit periodically, flames dancing in some imagined breeze, but it was otherwise still and silent, reflecting its bonded's respect for the family and loved ones of the fallen. This was not a time for merriment, but a reason for somber reflection upon the sacred beauty of life. 

Or so Nina would say, were anyone to ask her. In truth, she was a little bored. She hadn't known Rhiannon, just as she hadn't known most of the souls she commended to Mort's realm by way of fire. It was simply a part of her duties. And even if she devoutly believed in the sanctity of those duties... this was by far her least favorite.

In any case, she made for an imposing figure, dressed in all black and gazing solemnly out at the emotional masses. It would be time to light the pyre soon, but for now, all she could offer those who mourned the soldier was quiet strength and the conviction that the girl's soul would soon rest with Mort.

I'll tell you how I've been there too
And that none of it matters

Nina