They gathered after the battle. A great battle it was; fierce and furious. Many fell. The field was littered with the dead.

They stomped upon the field in the puddles, squaking in the muck. And wondering what becomes of us after death.

Do they have souls?

And they would seek thier answer in the best way. Thirty Two Red Geese would die themselves: fighting, furious. They would fall. Just as all the rest.