The forest was dense, with tall, thick trees making up the bulk of scenery, along with the odd bush or sometimes a patch of grass. Light filtered through the leaves in a way that looked as if the forest floor was the sea floor. The familiar chirp of birds was gone, Thorne's goat was unusually calm, or maybe he was just being quiet for Thorne's sake. It stood taller than any other Goat Thorne had seen, in fact it stood taller than most horses. His horns curled and its fur was long and black. Normally the creature would be annoying Thorne or one of his neighbors. There was no one left for the goat to annoy. At least they're free of him now. Thorne thought, as he let out a short, bitter laugh. It was laugh, or cry.
Thorne, in one hand held a tall, sturdy, staff of Ironwood. So called for its strength and the difficulty of chopping and cutting it, such to the point of being known as "Ax Breaker" by Men and Dwarves. It was six foot tall and straight. The grain of the wood was clear through the smooth surface. Towards the top it formed into a carving of two bearded serpents, their long necks intertwined and their mouths grasping a perfect sphere of what looked like diamond. In the other, a shovel. It wasn't fancy but it got the job done, the smith who made it was skilled, but didn't care for making something that was to be stuck into the ground repeatedly look anything more than presentable.
The shovel made the familiar biting sound as it cut through the soft upper layer of the forest floor. Thorne brought it back up through the damp dirt and roots. It was caught on a smaller, but surprisingly strong root. The unexpected jerking caught him off guard and he lost concentration. In what seemed an instant the stench of death rushed in and filled Thorne's senses with the sour, bitter smell of sulfur and decay. Thorne fell to his knees, hacking and coughing, his breathing was slowly returning to a steady pace as he leaned on his staff for support. Through the gags and coughs Thorne raised his right hand and a faint blue light enveloped his hand as it turned to a fist. The incantation he cast was a simple one, but under the right circumstances it could be invaluable. It altered the strength and sensitivity of his senses, in this case: he numbed his sense of smell.
Thorne laid his staff down and grabbed the long, smooth handle of the shovel to resume digging. It wasn't clear exactly how long he had been digging for, but the sun was telling him it was just after mid-day. Thorne looked to the hole. It was long and rectangular closer to five feet long than six and as far as he could tell, four feet deep. Thorne walked forward and threw his shovel to the ground, he turned and knelt before a dead body, garbed in brown and holding a staff in his hands, which met at the midpoint of his chest. He was laid before a tree, its roots supporting the man's head. The elderly-seeming man had a peaceful look about him. His hair was splayed underneath his head, a good part of it was caked stiff with bird droppings. His hat was next to his head, slightly higher on the roots and on top of that was a bird's nest normally worn by this man under the furry hat. The eggs which it held were broken, the chicks semi-developed with still soft beaks. He passed his hands over the man's open eyes, closing them. A small rustling noise was heard by Thorne in the grass. A hedgehog crept forward, at first suspicious of Thorne but warming to him quickly as he recognized the man. Thorne extended his hand gently, taking the hedgehog in his palm and stroking its back. It looked at Thorne expectantly. "It's good to see you're okay Sebastian." Thorne said softly as he rubbed its cheeks.
Thorne place Sebastian on his shoulder, moved forward and put one arm under the old man's head and neck, the other under his knees and carried him to the grave he had prepared. Gingerly, as if the old wizard could still feel pain he was laid to rest. His eyes opened. Thorne jumped a bit at this but remembered that he died with his eyes open. The muscles in his face were pretty much stuck in that position or at the very least wanted to be. Thorne closed them again. They opened again. Thorne closed them. They opened. He closed them. They opened. Once again Thorne closed the eyes, this task was starting not only to grate on him, but felt like a cruel mockery of Thorne's grief. They opened.
Tired of what he could only feel was a game, Thorne grabbed the old man's hat and laid it over his eyes. Thorne rose to his feet and grabbed the shovel. Morosely and sluggishly he began moving the soil back into the hole. Seeing the man's body saddened Thorne. He felt numb, slow and on the verge of tears. He took a deep breath and focused on the movement of his tool. He didn't know or care how long it took to fill the grave.
Thorne let out a breath of relief and turned to his goat, Tulroc, and removed a plain wooden sign, which he then hammered in to the ground, at the head of the shallow grave. Thorne laid his palm against it and felt a bit of power flow down his arm and into the wood, leaving behind an arcane mark that read: "Radagast The Brown".