Until then, the pond holds what it holds.

And the people buried there — placed carefully in the water and the peat by a community that cared for them, in a practice maintained across what seems to have been multiple generations — remain what they have always been.

Not curiosities.

Not data points.

Not skulls with interesting tissue inside them.

They were members of a community.

They were cared for.

They were wrapped in fabric that someone wove.