The night Charles died Erik wandered alone into the woods. With each step he watched the glow and the murmur of the campsite fade away, until the only light was that of the moonless heavens and the only sound that of the forest herself.
Once, long ago, on a night like this one, Charles had taught him how to clear his mind and listen to that voice. "She's mourning," Erik said. Charles looked away.
But Erik could not clear his mind tonight. Over and over he sat there, idle, pacing back and forth, as Charles perished in a flurry of unquantifiable pieces of himself, and Erik with him.
He had not cried since that night. Now, as he struggled to hold back those same tears, he remembered what the forest had said.
For the first time since that night, he prayed. "Yitgadal, v'yitgadash, sh'mei rabbah, b'almah di'vracha kir'utei, v'yamlich malchutei…"
And indeed, the forest mourned. And the trees, his minyan, joined his prayer: "B'chayechon, uv'yomechon…"
And when the dawn at last peeked through the now-quiet leaves, Erik answered, "Amen."
Author's note: This is a transliteration of the Hebrew Mourner's Kaddish. Roughly translated, it means "May His name be exalted and sanctified, throughout the world, which He has created according to his will. May His Kingship be established in your lifetime and in your days…" These are the opening lines of the prayer, traditionally said after a loved one has died.