As with your kind, our time alive is limited. When the end comes, the dying fall to the ground engulfed in flames of spontaneous generation. By our custom, those nearby sit and wait and contemplate their own inevitable end. Some say the fire that consumes us reflects some quality of character — sometimes, raging red, others cooler blue. When the flames die down, very little ash remains, but in the center of that ash is what we call the afterlife, a stone the size of your heart, ranging from clear to jet black. By custom, the afterlife belongs to the family. Some families keep generations of afterlife, building temples to house them. Some leave the afterlife in a place special to the departed and so you may come across one of these stones in an unexpected place. Your kind owes ours no reverence, though moving these stones is inconsiderate, at best. You might better take a moment to contemplate your own afterlife. mjh