I float. In every direction as far as I can see, which is further than I can hear now, there are octopus floating. Into the depths and out into Cove. We are all waiting for Soil Parent and Stubby Runt^ Lorekeeper. Two Gardeners separate a wall of long seaweed, revealing a beak and Soil Parent, who has been with the body for an 8-night since she was placed in the chamber. Where only 8-night ago there was an individual I recognised, there is just a beak. Everything that was Pack Guider^ is gone, leaving a strange hard, ridged cone. It seems impossible. Stubby Runt Lorekeeper explained that the Mother is even selfless after death and her body returns to The Tangle where she will continue to nourish countless lives in a constant cycle. I was shocked when I saw her; everything that made her not any Cove Mother but Pack Guider, was already gone. It was a pale, empty mass.

Octopus experience Walking/Dissolving differently to dogs. It is a central part of their lives, that Mothers Dissolve and yet live on and that they are remembered. Mothers, whose entire lives are about Service of their Pack. They whelp a whole generation, then they are den-parent and Soil Parent. Then they slowly fade. Pack Guider was in much pain for the last 16-night, but I understand she had been in pain for cycles. Many of the octopus here were whelped by her, many were also whelped by her Mother or her 2-Mother. As Stubby Runt Lorekeeper joins Soil Parent in the rock nook and they lift the beak, every octopus, in every direction, releases their sadness. The water of Cove is saturated with the sadness of a Pack in mourning. I try to add my own sadness to the tide but mine smells out of place. I am not feeling the same emotion as those around me. They are sad but this release is also right, Mother has performed her role and is moving onto the next stage of her duty. I am just sad; I feel like I have lost an individual I had not yet had the chance to know.

As Soil Parent and Stubby Runt Lorekeeper begin to syphon to the Garden, I travel to the surface to ensure I have enough breath for the placing. I pass through clouds of swirling emotion, mixing with one another. Where an individual knew her well, there are almost specific memories, like pack-memories. I pass through a memory of a tangle^, I could feel the arms I don’t have, being caressed by silky arms and feel a fizzing in my stomach before passing into a period of fishing and chatting with Pack Guider when she was about the same size and colour as Soil Parent is now. I break the surface, breathe and dive back into the miasma. I do not want to miss this chance to experience Pack Guider once more.

One of her litter-mates must have left this memory of Pack Guider showing off Soil Parent’s hermit crab, when he was much smaller – several containers before the crab Soil Parent remembers. I do not know who left the memory of Pack Guider and Soil Parent placing the hermit crab container in Soil Parent’s Garden. This memory is from Mauve Gardener (I know all Natal-Cove octopus are mauve but he was the first octopus I saw once I recovered from my mRNA patch and the colour struck me so profoundly that the name was given), he is one of Soil Parent’s litter mates, he is looking at Pack Guider as though she was larger than a Lorekeeper even though I can tell from the size of the rocks and shells that she was no larger than Soil Parent. This memory is of Pack Guider being named Heir at her first Suitor’s Fayre in a scape I don’t recognise, that must be Chasm.

All the octopus are drifting, barely propelling, to the Gardens. The memories are mixing with each other and coming faster and faster as they do. They begin to blend so that a tiny, newly-whelped Pack Guider is cultivating curly grasses in her garden which I know Soil Parent was present for. I can see the cliff face onto which the Gardens have been cultivated looming out of the darkness. Soil Parent and Stubby Runt Lorekeeper are arriving. They wait there. I know from discussions with Mauve Gardener, that they are imbuing the beak with a selection of their strongest memories of her and sharing them together as only they can, being the two most bereaved. As they do this, the octopus drift over and form into floating ranks, again stretching as far as I can see in all directions. I settle into the gap nearest me and wait to observe what will happen next. It should be the placing of the beak and then Stubby Runt Lorekeeper will give a recounting of her life. If the other octopus want to edit this, they then have a chance to suggest alterations, the new Mother (Soil Parent) then agrees to these changes if she agrees, then she is officially no longer Heir and expected to begin the duties of a Mother.

Together, Stubby Runt Lorekeeper and Soil Parent lower the beak into the spot cleared for it in her Garden. Her anemones surround it. I leak more sadness into the water, even if it smells a little off, it is my honest grief and, more than anything, octopus encourage honesty. Then they each secrete sticky ink at the base of the beak. Then all the octopus draw in and make contact with each other, forming an enormous floating raft. I approach and Mauve Gardener makes sure he has contact on my nose and paw-pad. Other octopus hold onto various parts of me, most tentatively, some with a no-nonsense attitude that sums up octopus once they have expressed their feelings. While Stubby Runt Lorekeeper begins to recite the life of Pack Guider, two Gardeners come in behind him and secure the beak firmly into place with their own ink and stones. He and Soil Parent each have many octopus touching them and a message begins to be passed. I do not understand what part the translator is playing but this has the clarity of communicator and the intimacy of contact communication.

« Cove Mother » – gesture – « was born 2 and a half 8-cycles ago. She was Cove Mother » – different gesture I do not already know – « ‘s second brood. A brood that went on to great things, amongst them Cold-Cove Suitor » – gesture – « who worked with Cold knowledge-seekers to develop a more effective rapid mRNA patch for tropical to polar preparation; Cove Knowledge-seeker » – gesture – « who has increased the variety of bioluminescence available to octopus in the last 8-turn and of course Cove Gardener » – gesture – « who has maintained and improved our sensory pools so diligently. She replaced the former Cove Heir » – gesture. Each time he refers to an individual, he breaks connection for a heartbeat but the contact communication is so fast that it is easy to follow – « at her first Suitor’s Fayre. She was Heir for just 5 turns, her Mother died due to an infection from an mRNA patch. She took up her responsibility immediately. She had 4 broods, resulting in over 500 new Cove adults over her lifetime. She chose her Heir » – familiar gesture for Soil Parent – « from her first brood and she has been influential in her life in improving the Gardens and sensory pools as well as cultivating and improving our relationships with the Nomadics and Freshes (even though they are obviously not able to attend this Placement) while not losing sight of the close relationship we have always had with fellow Liminals in Reef (who are also amongst the stars). » I know that this covers 6 of the 7 other Families. Chasm is not a Nomadic, Fresh or a Liminal and, as far as I can ascertain hate Cove as much as Rise hates Set. « Under her guidance, Cove has particularly improved in areas of captive animal management of not just aquatic animals but even Peak^-mammals. » More than one barred eye turns to me. « After a long life, she finally returned to The Tangle an 8-night ago due to old age dissolve. Are there any changes requested by any present? »

The silence in my head, rings, apparently it is very rare for any octopus to want to edit content. I know Stubby Runt Lorekeeper has worked very hard at ensuring the key topics were covered. Apparently, most Mothers approve their synopsis before Dissolve anyway.

« Thank you all for your acceptance. Her Suitors may come forward to charge the beak. Then, any other individual may approach. » Then the feel of Soil Parent,

« We are going to travel to the sensory pools. Any-oct may join us in sorrow or joy. » Soil Parent has been preparing herself for this moment. She syphons away, keeping her eye on the beak of the individual who has been a constant in every heartbeat of her life. She is heading for the surface. She will go to the grief pool first. No other octopus may enter until she leaves. I have to surface but try not to draw attention.

When I re-join the mourners, the Suitors have gone to the sensory pools. I join those waiting and find myself, much sooner than expected, at the beak. I do what I can to charge it. I am not sure if I can put memories in like an octopus but, when I touch it, I am so overwhelmed I want to howl. Memories of all kinds roll off the beak and I have to break contact. I go directly up to the surface and paddle to the sensory pools. Just a few moments out of the water and all the sadness is refreshing. I have barely tested my new eyes in air. I can see details that only my nose knew before. The colours are dizzying, so many flowers that are purple (another new concept) and even orange (the colour I found out I am).

I reach the sensory pools. I will not partake; my one experience was enough for me. There are octopus in sensory pools in all directions. They are separate in the main with a few sharing their emotions. The translator tells me they are crying, silent and even chucking. I understand this ritual even less than the placing of the beak. Having expelled my grief so viscerally and consciously, I find I am fascinated by the different experiences these octopus are having. My inner scientist wins out and I start to systematically observe each pool and how the octopus in or near it are behaving with my eyes as well as my nose.

It is getting light now. But the night has never been so lit to me. There are spots of light all over the sky. What do dogs not know because they cannot see? The sky wears a spotted coat where the Sun leaks through. I am cold even though I am dry. Over the degrees^, I watched the octopus form larger and larger clumps until they are now in the largest sensory pool, all tangled together, writhing. If I had witnessed this when I first came here, I may never have been able to recognise octopus as potential Pack rather than monsters. They have been like that for at least a degree. I realise that a dog can go where they please. I can return to den and the otters and sleep. I will ask Soil Parent about this practice tomorrow. I shimmy into the water, not disturbing the octopus. It is warmer than the air. The Tangle welcomes me in and makes me safe. I return to den and check on Hard Gardener. When I lie down with the otters, I find my grief waiting for me to try to sleep. I curl round it and push myself into deep-sleep.