As if having to do this once was bad enough.
It was raining this time, though. The weather on the day of Randall's funeral had been surprisingly pleasant, though he couldn't say as much for the actual funeral. Even though the sun had been shining, there was a collective somberness so thick in the air that it could have covered the sun.
Today, however, it seemed that the weather had decided to play along with the mood. What a pathetic fallacy.
Among the cluster of umbrellas and hushed bodies around the fresh grave, Hershel felt empty and numb like a shell, a hollow existence.
Was this how he had felt when Randall had died? He couldn't even remember. Everything from that time was a blur now. Somehow, however, he knew that this was much, much worse.
Water dribbled across the brim of his hat and onto the drenched ground, pattering away at the sodden grass. He heard the service leader's voice, but couldn't make sense of the words. The only sound was the rain as it slowly eroded away at his crumbling stone facade, but beneath it was nothing but a void.