Back at it.
Page 8, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):
He says, "She's dead, and it looks like too much work is what did it to her." He says, "She needs to be buried, after which we will journey a ways off."
Suddenly a rough-voiced woman says that if my mother is no longer alive, it's her lazy son that made her that way that she had to work all the time to forage for him. Many there say, "Yes", "She's right", and so forth.
More loudly, she says, "If his mother is to be buried, it's not my hole to dig". "Yes," says the man that pulled me off my mother. "Make her boy dig her grave, so that he's working for her for once." Now the wise man says, "Yes," and scratches his ass. "Find the boy," he says.
I try to run. Ah, but they're men, and longer-legged than me, and I'm so scared that I run and fall into a briar bush. They pull me out, and I'm all scratched up, and they drag me to feather-ass, who's sitting by my mother. Her head is lying in water. The spots of light have crawled slowly from off the tree across the grass and are back in her eyes.
It's amazing how you realize what a vivid picture Moore has painted for you once you figure out the language.