Found Low

Another ketucari may have called it a small thing, had they noted it at all. The already low stones lay canted at gentle angles that dropped their toplines to a shallow breath above that of the swaying grass. The timbers once etched with words or flourishes had had the fine corners blasted and rotten away until they were indiscernable splinter and mush. In a wetter clime, they would long ago have turned black and soft and washed themselves away. Here in the plains, were they not sheltered from the sun by that same tall grass, they would have dried and been blown to ash in the dry heat. Even the humble plantlife that had meekly hidden in the grave's shadow had the appearance of cowering newborns. 
To Mhenkaye, it was  a thing of great stature and import indeed. 
For starters, anything taller than the grass of the Bayan savannah was substantial. A silhouette so faint could just as easily have been the spine of a prowling predator or the flank of an exhausted mother lying down to hide her pups. And lo, perhaps that was precisely what this monolith was. A death, many deaths - it is often said that one oughtn't speak ill of those passed, but a legacy ended can be any legacy at all. A great killer could be buried here, or a terrible one. The hunter in the grass. Mhenkaye lowered her head and closed her eyes, breathed in deeply the dusty scent of the parasitic ivy clinging to the stone, trained her ears on the whistling of bent grass and the creaking of nigh-vanished old walls, settled into the earth all around her. A beloved aunt could be buried here, a long awaited and all-too-soon lost child. The family desperate for rest. Mhenkaye swept her head from side to side slowly, teeth lightly parted. She didn't remember when she'd learned this ritual, to kiss the air above the heads of the lost as if bidding a respected stranger farewell. Once to the right. She parted her teeth and breathed. Maybe she breathed in the smoke of a great general's conquest. Once to the left. She clamped her jaws shut in a tight seal and exhaled. A warm breath on the cool forehead of a sickly child. Once more to the right. She opened her eyes. Met the gaze of a near-forgotten friend. 
Mhenkaye straightened her back, turned, and walked away. A shrine is a great thing indeed. Always to be seen, never to be touched. She would make her mind forget and bid her heart remember. Let the grass swallow it. Let the great beasts come for the grass. Let this family stand and run with the beasts. She would hunt here some later day.