As [the sun] sank at last behind Mount V., conflict halted and all sides took stock of the day, noted their dead, wounded, and lost, and turned to the tasks of evening. Singers hailed the evening star, bodies were tossed upon pyres, healers moved about bringing such help and comfort as they could, meals were prepared, and mortals longed for rest.
The next day there will be more fighting. And the day after that. And after that.
In the annual procession through the heavens the zodiac sign of Grandmother W., goddess of wisdom, shifts to the season when the Veiled One, goddess of death, is prominent. The people embroiled in this civil war and those affected by it all know this for the constellations are their deities, the sundry manifestations of The One.
The countenance of the Veiled Queen is said to be loving and gracious but none can see it until the moment of death. Her lullaby, the song at time of death, begins with the words "Come my children, and do not fear...."
Indeed, as one sets out on the star path, the anxieties and terrors of life are laid aside. It is time for feasting and rest.
Sweet dreams, my oleaginous owls!
This site does not speculate on the relationship between wise birds and Wesson parties. There are places the mind need not go.