“And so,” intoned Mwa the Mole gravely, “we take comfort in knowing that Mone the Mole died doing what he loved.”

Mone the Mole’s widow, Naabi the Mole, comforted her pups as Mwa the Mole continued his remarks.

“Digging tunnels and eating earthworms, those were Mone the Mole’s great passions. We all remember the stories about his tunnels, which seemed to get longer with each telling, and the fine earthworm sashimi he used to regurgitate from time to time.”

The pallmoles shuffled forward, bearing Mone the Mole’s mortal remains, still with bits of dirt from the cave-in and chunks of earthworm in his mouth. Mwa the Mola and Naabi the Mole were not sure if Mone the Mole had died from the cave-in or from choking, but either one counted as doing what he loved.

“And thus, we commend Mone the Mole to the air. Oxygen to oxygen, nitrogen to nitrogen.”

Gathering around the hole opened in the ceiling, the pallmoles reverently chucked Mone the Mole out of it.
moles “burying” their dead aboveground

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