Qebhet shook her head. "Just that she wanted him treated with care." No... Melpomene, she'd said. Melpomene, the one who had slashed his legs so cruelly he might well have bled out on his own, had wanted him given every care. Skies, what a terrible, twisted affair.
She returned the bowl to the equipment table and wheeled the whole thing over to Marcie. "Why don't we give him the coin and the oil?" she suggested. If Ronan had believed in the Greek afterlife, then he might need his fare for the ferryman. And perhaps Ronan and Marcie both needed the anointing: a final act of care and intimacy from the bereft to the departed. "And... I can add my own blessing, if you like. If you think it's appropriate."