"Maybe it's trying to wash away the blood." The statues glow in the dim light as the water droplets wash down their surface.
Sticking to the blood, pulling it apart, and washing it away. By tomorrow, it would be gone. The ghost behind him barely touched his fur, but he could feel the freezing cold, so different from the heat of living bodies, coming from it.
You were my mother once. Was it the Gods that took you, Jorogumo? Is that why you dashed your skull on these rocks?
The blood was the evidence. The rain had washed some of it away, but a light stain remained. He had heard rumors, had come to see the proof of what he had heard. It was right there before him; he could easily guess the little details.
The ground was frigid, but he was glued right in front of the statues, unable to move, to think. Emotions did that, stilling your thoughts and chilling you, betraying you when you needed least to be betrayed. A sad smile came to his face. His mother could always bring these emotions right back.
The rain was as cold as the ghost, finding its way to his skin under the short pelt. He shivered in the cold. Little petals from his antlers fell to the forest floor in the pelting rain, forming a purple wreath around him.
Will you be back, Jorogumo? Would the Gods give you back?
Some water flowed from beneath his mask. It would join the rainwater, and nobody would know. Nobody would turn to look either.
He didn't cry. It was no exception if nobody knew.