[Ah...those words are a lot like his own thoughts, even if they are in a Jamaican accent. He nods, sadly.]

I agree, but...one of us thought otherwise, I guess.

[He's silent for a moment, brows knitting as he looks over the rest of the people around the campfire.]

...I wish I knew they were alright. Their soul, I mean. I can't...see them, here.

[And he has a good feeling that his spiritual vision has been blocked due to the dead being able to spill the beans, so to speak, on who did the deed.

For some reason, it's important for them to go through this song and dance, instead of getting the police involved.]

I hope they'll at least let us bury the body.