As rain descended upon the Fields of Fallen, Orin watched the attendants lower Pallia's casket into the ground. His eyes stung, and became blurry from the tears that formed in them, and fight as he may, he couldn't stop them from coming. He blinked them away, and tilted his head back to look into the gray clouds which hung overhead.
"Orin, it's time to go." Temn's solemn voice cut through the drumming of the rain, and Orin brushed the rain from his eyes and face before looking at his guardian.
"It is." He nodded to the much taller man.
Temn offered a small smile which didn't quite reach his red eyes. "Tomorrow will be a new day."
"Not one I want to see..."
Temn's heavy, gloved hand dropped onto the smaller man's shoulder, and without a word Orin was lead toward the exit of the fields as attendants behind them shoveled dirt into the grave.
Orin sat in the cabin of his carriage where only the noise of the wheels on the road, and rain on the roof was heard. The young man watched, with stinging eyes, as the gray and soaked countryside passed by at a steady pace. In the half a day's travel back to his home Orin said not a word, nor shed another tear. Pallia was dead, and only his silence stood as a testament to the damage it had done him.
For Temn however, work had only begun.
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