The dirt was moist, filling his nostrils with its warm, earthy smell as he finished the grave, shoveling the last few piles of dirt over the small box, a reminder of just how little was left of her when they were done.
He had done it all alone. None of the others had heard yet. They'd hate him, but he needed to get her out of sight. He needed to not see her body every time he walked into the small house.
"Tatena," he sighed, wiping away the sweat that threatened to overtake his brow and leak into his eyes. The dirt that was still on his hands made his eyes sting, but Gamma was almost a little happy that it did. Somehow, it made everything more real.
The rustling of grass behind him was a sign that he wasn't alone, a generosity on the part of the other man, who could be deathly silent when he wanted to be. Somehow the noise was a comfort to the quiet buzzing in his ears that had begun to ring steadily since the second she died.
"Smith," he said, softly.
"It's time to move on," the other man coaxed, "The others will be here soon. They'll want answers."
Gamma nodded, wiping his hands and hefting the shovel over his shoulder. "I'll answer them in the morning."