Cutie patootie found the first hole at dawn. Something had dug into a grave beside their own resting mound, flinging dirt across the wet grass. Cutie patootie was a tall skeleton, thin as a reed, with great bat wings folded at their back. They had died once. Their flesh was gone, and most of their memories with it. The bones that could bring both back were scattered in graves like these. So they guarded this ground, and now something was tearing it open. They knelt at the hole and stared. Loose finger bones lay in the mud. If the digging continued, the bones would scatter beyond finding. Cutie patootie's chest tightened. Without those bones, they would stay a hollow thing forever. Their ghost cat pressed against their leg. Its misty body glowed pale blue, and its eyes fixed on the treeline. A low sound rose from its throat. "You hear it too," Cutie patootie whispered. They crossed to a nearby cluster of towering flowers and blue trees. A scythe leaned against the trunk, its curved blade catching the gray light. Cutie patootie lifted it. The weight felt right in their bony hands. They waited behind the trees until the sky darkened. The cat stayed close, ears flat. Then the digging began again, wet and steady. Cutie patootie crept toward the sound. A badger crouched over the open grave, jaws locked around a rib. It had dragged three bones already into a pile. Cutie patootie's grip tightened on the haft. These were not just any bones. Any one of them might be a piece of who they used to be. They stepped out and swung the flat of the blade against the ground. Dirt sprayed. The badger reared back, hissing. Cutie patootie spread their wings wide and screeched. The sound tore across the graveyard. The badger bolted, crashing into the underbrush, and did not return. Cutie patootie dropped the scythe and knelt in the torn earth. They gathered the loose bones with shaking hands. One rib. Two finger bones. A curved piece they could not name. They pressed them to their chest and felt nothing familiar. No memory returned. But they were safe now, held close. The cat mewed and batted at something in the churned soil. Cutie patootie brushed the dirt away. Beneath the badger's diggings lay a small hollow. Inside sat a tiny purple spider wearing a pointed hat, guarding a single yellowed bone that did not match the others. Cutie patootie stared. This bone was not from any grave they had dug. It was older, and it hummed faintly under their fingers. The spider raised two legs, as if warning them off. The badger was gone. But someone, or something, had hidden a bone here on purpose. Cutie patootie held it up to the dim light. It felt like a piece of them. And it felt like a question they now had to answer.