follow your star

Their landlord had died, impaled on a tree when his Harley left the road unexpectedly. They sought clues at his wake. But none of the mourners seemed to have any notion of the why and wherefore of his death, of the meaning of life, of the stacked rocks, of anything. Some suggested going in one direction, some another.
But the number of the stones—seven—suggested a constellation in the North, the Pleiades.
Why I can't stop: The Seven Sisters, for chrissake.