Requiem for a Scot
The snow lay in drifts against the marble and granite monuments, bringing a stark beauty to the normally sombre locale. The crunch of footsteps weaving through the rows broke the still winter air, echoing among the trees that occasionally broke up the horizon. The visitors to this resting place of the dead stopped in front of a simple stone marker, breath clouding out into the frigid air. One bent down and lay a bouquet of heather and lilies on the snow covering the grave, sighing softly.
Her companion wrapped his arm around her shoulders, looking down at the grave that held one of the best friends and doctors he had known. 'How does it look from up there, Carson? Bet it never snows where you are. Lucky. It's freezing down here.' He murmured, smiling lopsidedly. 'Still, you always said you loved the snow. It's kind of nice, actually. It doesn't snow back home; You already knew that, of course. McKay says hi, as does everyone else. You're sorely missed, Carson. Don't you forget that for a moment.'
The woman sniffled, tears threatening to escape her dark brown eyes. 'Too many have died, John; too many.' She said quietly, shaking her head.
'I know, Elizabeth. I know.' He drew her close, hugging her, and then turned away from the grave, resting a gloved hand momentarily on the headstone. They walked away in contemplative silence, a light dusting of snow already descending from the heavens to gild the flowers with silver.