The smell of tea in the morning was quite comforting and allowed Moffitt to relax a little before he mentally went over what he wanted to say to his father. It seemed simple, really—after all, they both talked and apologized for what happened during Moffitt's illness decades ago. But, Moffitt never told anyone that the illness had been a curse. He also wanted to unblock more of his memories of Michael, now that he was beginning to accept what had happened. For that, he would need the assistance of someone who helped with his memories before—Dietrich.

Moffitt made sure his flight to Germany was in order before heading to his parents' home. He felt there really was no right way to approach this subject with his father. There was simply approaching it, and that was it. He would see where the conversation would go.

The sky was threatening a very cold rain when Moffitt walked up the steps to his parents' manor. He could recall how dismal the weather had been during his cursed illness, how dismal it was the very day that it started. He remembered waking up feeling like he had been violently spun around, and thus began an awful countdown to him throwing up in one of the restrooms at the college, followed by fainting in the hallway.

Silence quickly fell over him when he pulled himself from his memories. He shook his head, and knocked on the door. His mother greeted him warmly.

"Jack, what a pleasant surprise!" Adeline gave him a hug. "Come on in. What seems to be the trouble? You look upset."

"There's… There's something I need to talk with Father about," Moffitt said.

"Of course. He's in his study. Did you eat breakfast?"

"I had a little something."

"You had just a cup of tea, didn't you?" Adeline sighed. "Good gracious, no wonder you're still skin and bones. I have a fresh blackberry cobbler ready. I'll cut you a piece."

There were four people Moffitt knew never to argue with—his wife, Anah, Troy, and his mother. His mother was probably the absolute last person he would ever attempt to argue with, even though he did snap at her over the fact that he was leaving to take that trip to North Africa after he recovered from his illness. He hung up his coat and cap before walking down the hall to his father's study. He paused by the open door, then cleared his throat. "Father?"

Nicholas looked up from the typewriter he was hunched over. "Well, good morning, Jack. What brings you by today?"

Moffitt glanced at the floor, and released his breath. "I… found one of my diaries when I was sorting through some old things in my closet, and… that diary was the one I'd kept when I was very sick. I learned… something."

"Yes, I was quite the git during that time, wasn't I?"

"You were. No doubt about that. I know it's not something either of us like talking about, but I felt you should know." Moffitt took a seat across from his father's desk. "The illness I had… it… um… it wasn't something the doctors could've done anything about. It was caused by a curse."

"That can't be. I checked everything that was known at the time. I even talked to Forrest Kestle himself—Evelina's father. If he didn't know anything about it, then nobody did. Besides, the only curse it looked like it could have been would have killed you within a few days."

"Are you referring to wasting malaise?"

"Yes."

"That's what I had. I only survived because of the snake spirit. It was fighting the curse the whole time, and I was hallucinating snakes constantly because of it. I never said anything because of how most people perceive snakes."

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, even as Adeline came in to give their son the slice of blackberry cobbler, along with a cup of tea and a small dish of clotted cream. The older man then gave a sigh, leaning forward with his hands folded on the desk. "So, the snake spirit ultimately saved your life."

Moffitt nodded. "It did. I'm surprised I didn't remember it until reading that journal just yesterday. I imagine it's because I've blocked out so many memories that involve Michael. I had forgotten…" He trailed off, tears choking him. "I'd forgotten how much Michael did for me back then."

"He was glued to you, I remember that. He refused to leave you alone until you were asleep, or at the very least, not in pain."

The room became silent as both men began thinking of the soul that was no longer with them. Moffitt was trying to suppress his tears, but they came out anyway. His face was contorted with the effort of trying to hide them, but he hissed out a curse and let them fall. His father was more subdued, simply sighing and drying his eyes with a handkerchief.

When Moffitt no longer felt choked, he took a sip of his tea, hoping it would calm him. "It's just… hard to believe how much has changed sometimes. Honestly, I… I-I'm feeling so many things at once right now and I don't know where to start. Reading that journal, I felt like I'd been hit by a bus."

Nicholas nodded in agreement. "Can I confess something to you, Jack?"

"You can."

"When you told me about what you learned about yourself in North Africa, with the snake spirit and Dietrich's prophecy, I felt like I'd been hit by a double-decker. It confirmed a lot of suspicions that I had for a long time, and that Michael suspected as well."

"Wait, Michael… h-he suspected something was—"

"Neither of us were close in our guesses, but we both had a feeling something was deeply wrong. Or, perhaps, deeply different. That wasn't something I was ready to accept at the time." Nicholas was quiet again. "Why didn't you tell us about Anah or what you learned you have when you visited before your team was sent to Normandy?"

"I was afraid of what you might think. That, and… we were more focused on Michael. Mostly. I'm not sure what I was doing. Not grieving, I think. Something. I guess just… crying and feeling guilty over what I did when I learned what happened."

"You were grieving. It's not a smooth process, or a pretty one. You're just happening to take longer because of everything else that happened. Goodness, your mother and I had been talking for years about how it was impossible to talk about Michael in front of you, and we wondered what it would take to help you start to move on—if you could move on at all."

"I was afraid that moving on would be the same as claiming I was right in what I did afterward, with… killing those two soldiers. It's not the same. I know that now, and I think… I think it's a combination of feeling as though I've punished myself enough, and that I'm tired of feeling like I have to constantly belittle myself that's pushed me to finally stop."

"Jack, you're very lucky that Vanora loves you as much as she does, because I don't know if any other woman would have stuck with you through all of this."

Moffitt nodded. "I was worried she wouldn't be able to handle it. After all… no one else did. I'm glad she's still with me, even with all of my rubbish. And now I have to help her with what she went through when the magpies were a problem a few months ago."

"I know I wondered if enlistment—or joining the military at all—would be right for you. Your letters and, of course, you rescuing me proved that you were stronger than you or anyone else might think. Despite that, I was still looking forward to the day you came home, but I had no idea that you were going to come home… different. A lot of soldiers did, and I was worried you would go down the path of drinking to drown out your nightmares, or worse, trying to end your own life. I'll always be grateful that you kept fighting, because look where you are now. More successful than I ever thought you'd be. That, and you know Michael would've tried to help you as best he could."

"He would. Fortunately, I had Anah, and Snowstripe. Meeting Millington was a lifesaver as well. He didn't think I was strange—he was very happy to know I could talk to snakes, because that meant he could make the lives of his animals so much better." Moffitt grinned a little. "I still remember when he found out I'm completely immune to snake venom. We had a very angry puff adder who needed medication for a respiratory infection, and needless to say, the puff adder bit me. Millington stared in utter horror for a moment, while I'm wincing from the bite itself and trying to get the snake off my hand. I got the puff adder's teeth out of my hand, gave him his medicine, and put him back in his tank. All I needed was a bandage."

"Yes, I remember your mother being very confused and panicked when you told her that story. She didn't appreciate you laughing."

"I know. I probably deserved being slapped over that."

"For scaring your mother? Absolutely."

They continued talking about more lighthearted things for a little while, before looping back to why Moffitt had come to visit in the first place. Discussing various aspects of the time of his illness wasn't easy for either man to do, but they did so anyway. It was long overdue. Talking about Michael was long overdue as well.

"I'm going to Germany so Dietrich can help me recover some of my memories," Moffitt explained. "I'm a little afraid of how this will go, but I think it's necessary if I'm going to truly move on."

"If that is what you feel you have to do, I won't stop you," Nicholas replied. "I hope it helps, because there are so many stories about Michael that I've been looking forward to reminiscing with you."

"If anyone can help me, it's Dietrich. He did it before. There's no reason he can't do it again."

"Let me know when you return, then."

"I will. Thanks." Moffitt didn't leave the manor right away. Instead, he headed upstairs to see his old bedroom. It was reserved as a guest room for him now, and he had used it for about a month after returning from the war, before decided to find his own house. He remembered how strange it was being in that room again. His first night home, he had laid awake, with Anah laying on his chest, thinking about everything that happened over the last few years. It didn't feel real, and yet there he was, cuddling with a highly venomous cobra. It was real. It had all been real.

He stood in the middle of the room for a few long minutes, unsure of how to feel. He was tired of feeling unsure, and made a mental note to talk to Dietrich about it before slowly turning to leave the room. He would be back, and hoped he would be able to feel differently about all this.

Hammelburg, West Germany

Moffitt flinched after knocking on Dietrich's door and hearing a little boy shout, "I'll get it!" before also hearing Dietrich yelling, "Absolutely not! Get back here!"

Gunther pouted that he was only trying to help, and Dietrich sighed before opening the door. "Hello, Moffitt," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"See, it's only Uncle Moffitt," Gunther said.

"You did not know it was Uncle Moffitt," Dietrich said. The skinny German looked immensely tired. "Get back inside. It is cold."

Gunther was insistent on hugging Moffitt's leg, and holding up his arms so he could be picked up. Moffitt sighed before crouching and picking the boy up. "Goodness, you're getting heavy, Gunther."

"Could we please get inside and close the door?" Dietrich groaned.

"Yes, yes, my apologies." Moffitt adjusted his grip on Gunther before going into the house. "Alright, Gunther, let me put you down so I can get my coat off."

"And then you want your cup of tea, because Uncle Troy thinks you're crazy," Gunther said.

"No, Uncle Troy is the crazy one, because he doesn't know how to appreciate a good cup of tea."

"Uncle Troy is crazy."

"Yes, that's right." Moffitt smirked. "Uncle Troy is bonkers." He set Gunther down to take his coat off and hung it up on the coat tree by the door.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Moffitt?" Dietrich asked.

"I would, thank you. Where's Esther?"

"Upstairs, folding the laundry."

"Can I try tea, Uncle Moffitt?" Gunther tugged on Moffitt's sleeve.

"Not until you're a bit older," Moffitt said. "Tea is very hot—well, it's supposed to be hot."

"Gunther, why do you think you want to try regular tea when you spit out Uncle Tully's iced tea?" Dietrich asked. "Which was extremely rude, by the way."

"Maybe it's gooder hot," Gunther said.

Dietrich bit his lip. "Gunther… 'gooder' is not a word. Come on. Fix your sentence."

"Maybe it's better hot."

"There you go." Dietrich looked at Moffitt when he sat at the counter. "Have you dropped by for a visit?"

"Yes and no. I need your help with something—"

"Can I sit on your lap, Uncle Moffitt?" Gunther asked.

"If you need help, I will ask Esther to take Gunther somewhere for a little while," Dietrich said.

"It's alright. As long as he can behave while I'm having my tea, but when I'm finished, we'll need privacy." Moffitt grunted while putting Gunther on his lap. "You won't be able to do this much longer. You're growing up."

"Yes, and we are all happy that you are growing up," Dietrich said.

"Uncle Troy is a grown-up and you tell him he should grow up, Daddy," Gunther said.

"Anyone who thinks a whoopie cushion is an appropriate birthday present needs to mentally grow up, which Troy seems to be incapable of doing."

Moffitt raised an eyebrow. "Troy got him a whoopie cushion?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"Judging by your tone, I take it you've been a victim of this whoopie cushion?"

"Yes. No worries, though, I will make Troy pay dearly for this."

"You're going to get him to sit on it, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes." Dietrich grinned. "I strongly suspect Troy got the whoopie cushion as payback for the giant water balloon I dropped on him during the party after Jules defeated the magpies. Still, I will get him back."

"Now I think you need to grow up if you think that's a proper way to handle this."

"Moffitt, this is Troy we are talking about. Reason, logic, and acting like an adult went out the window a long time ago."

Moffitt sighed. "Fair point." He wrapped one arm around Gunther when Dietrich set a cup of tea in front of him. "I'm about to pick up a hot drink. Stop squirming." He waited until Gunther was still before picking up his tea. "Thank you, Dietrich."

"Not a problem. Would you like anything else?"

"No, thanks." Moffitt glanced over when someone came downstairs. "Hello, Esther."

"Hello. Good to see you again, Moffitt. How are you?" Esther asked.

"Doing alright, thanks for asking."

"Is Gunther being a pain?"

"Not at the moment."

"We will need some privacy in a little while, though, if you do not mind," Dietrich said.

"Sure," Esther replied. "Gunther, how would you like to help Mama rake the leaves out back?"

"I wanna stay with Uncle Moffitt," Gunther said.

"You can sit with me later. I'm not going anywhere for the rest of the day," Moffitt replied.

"Okay." Gunther climbed off of Moffitt and dashed over to his mother.

Once they were outside, Dietrich released his breath. "Alright. What is it you need?"

"I need your help unblocking some of my memories," Moffitt said. "A few days ago, I found a journal that I wrote in while I was sick—the illness that delayed my schooling—and I learned that my illness was actually the result of a curse that would've been fatal if it hadn't been for the snake spirit. I also learned… just how much Michael had done for me during my sickness, and it made me realize how I've locked up so many memories involving him. I… I want to uncover them, because I think I'm ready to start moving on."

Dietrich was quiet as he thought. "I suppose we can try another hypnosis session, and since you are very open about this, we might not need the aid of the chamber we used at Cambridge. Just out of curiosity, though, why are you going to me?"

"Because you've helped me before with things like this."

"Fair enough. Finish your tea, and then we will get started."

Dietrich moved the coffee table out of the way in the living room, so they could sit in front of the fireplace. He then went around closing the blinds, darkening the house, before lighting the logs in the fireplace. Once a decent-sized fire was going, Dietrich sat with his back to the fire, facing Moffitt. "Now, are you relaxed?"

"More than I thought I was going to be," Moffitt said.

"Alright. Take a few moments to breathe, and envision a place where you are most relaxed. I am imagining this is a place with a lot of tea."

Moffitt smirked. "Oh, yes, indeed."

"Only the best of tea."

Moffitt sighed contentedly. "I'm imagining home. A good cup of tea, a fire in the hearth, Vanora cuddled up with me. It's hard to feel stressed here."

"Good. Focus on that. Let each sensation lull you to sleep. The smell of tea and the fire. The warmth surrounding you. The taste of a perfectly made cup on your tongue. Your wife touching you in a way that makes you feel calm and safe. Let all of that come together. Close your eyes… You will fall into a trance where you will only be able to hear my voice. Keep thinking about all that which makes you calm and happy… and sleep."

All of Moffitt's senses dulled at once, aside from his hearing. His heartbeat had become slow and even. He didn't feel any pain or discomfort anywhere. He wasn't too warm or too cold. He drew in a breath, and waited for Dietrich's voice.

"Can you hear me, Moffitt?" Dietrich asked.

"Yes," Moffitt replied.

"Good. I want you to envision your mind as an old attic. It is well-kept, but there are parts of it that need a bit of organizing."

Moffitt expected to see an attic similar to his own back home, or even his parents' attic. Instead, it was a place he had never seen before, apart from some vague memories of dreams. The attic was quite large and full of bookshelves and trunks. Some of the trunks had no locks, and others had locks that were badly rusted. The windows were open and there were thin, sheer curtains waving and billowing in the wind. It didn't have the smell of mothballs or rodent poison. It was clean, but the trunks with rusted locks were covered in dust and cobwebs. They were scattered about the attic unevenly.

He became aware that Dietrich was standing behind him in the attic. "The trunks that are dusty and rusted are the ones you must open," Dietrich said.

"Uh… d-do you have a key?" Moffitt asked.

"No, but you do. Do you want to open them?"

"I… I-I don't know. I'm a bit afraid to."

"You must if you are to move on. The attic of your mind needs to be cleaned and organized. No one else can do it for you. The longer it stays this way, the more it will stress you out."

"Okay." Moffitt swallowed nervously, and felt a weight appear in his right pocket. A ring of keys. He took the keys out, and put the first one in the lock on the trunk in front of him. He expected it to fail since it was so rusted. It was slow to turn, but then a loud clunk was heard. Moffitt pulled the key out, and touched the lid of the trunk. He released his breath, and opened the lid. The first thing he heard was his own voice.

"For heaven's sake, Michael! Could you get anymore bloody annoying?! Stop bothering me!" Moffitt saw himself at thirteen dragging seven-year-old Michael out of the library in their parents' home.

"Come on, Jack, there's no one to play with! Please? Pretty please?" Michael begged.

"No! I'm busy!"

"No, you're not! You're reading Father's dusty old books and being boring like you always are."

Moffitt heard his teenaged self groan aloud. "Really? First you want me to play with you, and then you claim I'm being boring? You're an absolute bloody moron. Go away."

"I'm telling Mother you said that!"

"I don't care! You're being a git, and I don't want to see you again."

"You're not in charge."

"Again, I don't care. Go find something else to do. You're not making me want to play with you." With that, Moffitt watched himself push his brother into his bedroom and slam shut the door.

He closed the lid of the trunk, tears choking him. He clenched his fists. "I wish I'd played with him more."

Moffitt went through trunk after trunk of various memories, good and bad ones. It was draining and tiring. He wanted to stop, but this was what he had set out to do, and he was going to see it to completion. When there was one last trunk to open, he put the final key into the lock, turning until he heard the clunk, and then pulling the key out. He put the keyring in his pocket, and slowly opened the lid.

The memory was his last day in Britain before leaving for training with the Scots Greys in the Middle East. Michael was hugging him tightly, wishing him luck and hoping he would come back soon.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll try to find the time," Moffitt's younger self was saying. "This won't be the last time we'll see each other. I'll be back."

But it was the last time they saw each other. The last time ever, until Moffitt saw his brother across the river when an SS officer electrocuted him, and Anah prevented him from crossing.

Exhaustion seeped as deep as it could go inside Moffitt as he closed the trunk. His head hurt, and he couldn't tell if it was from the whole experience or the dust in the attic. He looked around the attic. Everything was open. Everything was unlocked, and the voices of the past were beginning to bombard him. He spotted Dietrich standing near the door, still very calm.

"I will snap my fingers and you will awaken from your trance," Dietrich said.

"Hurry before I go mad," Moffitt breathed.

He heard the sudden sound of Dietrich snapping his fingers, and all of his senses abruptly returned. Moffitt opened his eyes, seeing the flames still dancing behind Dietrich in the hearth. Relief crashed over him that he was back in reality, but much like his previous experience with hypnosis, Moffitt felt as though he had just been violently ill, purging something toxic from his body. He was drained, but he didn't feel a weight on his shoulders anymore.

"Are you alright?" Dietrich asked, breaking the silence.

Moffitt was sure how to answer. He felt better and awful at the same time.

"Take a moment to rest." Dietrich helped him onto the couch. "I also think you are in need of something comforting." The skinny German went into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with a cup of hot chocolate. "Here."

"Thanks." Moffitt gently took the cup. He drank slowly, savoring the sweet, creamy liquid. His head felt heavier and lighter at the same time, and he couldn't put his experience into words. Everything still felt scattered, and he appreciated Dietrich leaving him alone to sort out his thoughts.

He wasn't left alone for long, as when Esther came back inside with Gunther, the first thing the little boy did after taking his coat, hat, boots, and gloves off was run into the living room to see Moffitt.

"Gunther, we do not leave our things on the floor," Dietrich said firmly. "Someone could trip and get hurt. Put all that away."

"Okay, Daddy." Gunther ran back out to the coat tree.

"And stop running in the house, please. Running is for outside or if there is a fire."

"Like if Uncle Troy is in the kitchen?"

Dietrich snorted. "Yes. Like if Uncle Troy is in the kitchen." His smile faded. "Try not to bother Uncle Moffitt too much. He is not feeling well."

"Okay." Instead of listening to his father, Gunther went into the living room and climbed onto the couch. "Daddy says not to bother you because you don't feel good."

Any other day, Moffitt would have asked why Gunther was proceeding to bother him then, but he really didn't feel bothered.

"You seem sad, Uncle Moffitt." Gunther sat on Moffitt's lap and gave him a hug. "Whenever Daddy's sad, I give him a big hug."

Moffitt looked down at Gunther for a moment, then shifted to get comfortable and hug him back. He still had a ways to go until he felt like his thoughts were in order, but for now, this was okay. He didn't have to say anything.

Dietrich came into the room to find Gunther had fallen asleep on Moffitt. "I figured everything was alright since he has been quiet for a while," Dietrich said. "How are you feeling?"

"Still a bit overwhelmed," Moffitt replied.

"I can imagine, with… everything you saw, and have not seen for a long time."

Moffitt sighed. "I wish I could go back and tell Michael to go somewhere else the day the air raid happened. If he had been a loner like me, this… this never would have been an issue. There are so many things I wish had gone differently. So many that it makes me wonder if… if I'm really doing anything right in my life."

Dietrich shook his head. "I would strongly advise against beginning to think like that, because it will lead you down the same path I went. I never want to see anyone suffer similarly. Ever. I told you back when I helped you with your constant apologizing, you have so many things to be proud of. You would not want to change your marriage, would you?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Or your son?"

"No."

"You made amends with your father."

Moffitt nodded.

"You have the best group of friends in the world."

"I certainly do. I… I'm very lucky that you all are so willing to listen, and that… that you accepted me despite my own poor self-esteem."

"Well, we would not be very good friends if we did not listen to each other."

"No. Not in the slightest." Moffitt looked down at the sleeping Gunther. "We're all striving to do better than how we were treated growing up. Jules has been sick many times throughout his life, and not once have I ever treated him the way my father did."

Dietrich smirked. "You become such a mother hen whenever Jules is sick. Even more so whenever Vanora is sick. I remember you were quite a pest when she was pregnant."

"Yes, she likes to remind me of how irritating I was, which is funny because she could be equally irritating when she was moody. Then again, that was in a different way. I was trying to be helpful. She threw pillows at me for no reason."

Dietrich nodded. "When Esther was pregnant with Gunther, she once yelled at me for making her coffee too sweet—after telling me she wanted a little extra sugar. Then there were the orange cravings. I peeled so many damn oranges over a period of several days."

"Vanora went through about a week where she wanted nothing but black tea with no milk or sugar. I asked, 'Are you bloody insane?' She said, 'No, I'm pregnant.' I replied, 'That's no excuse to make a shoddy cup of tea,' and she told me that she didn't want to see me for the rest of the day."

"Let me guess, she wanted you five minutes later?"

"Ten minutes, but yes, she did, because my cuddles make everything better, as I was later told."

Dietrich grinned and shook his head. He looked at Gunther, sighing a little. "It was all worth it. He is a real pain sometimes, but I love him. I cannot bear the thought of acting like my father."

"Neither can I—even my father has told me not to act like him at his worst moments."

"Jules has grown into a wonderful young man. I would be concerned if you were not proud of him."

"I'll always be proud of him. Always." Moffitt was quiet for a moment, thinking about Jules and Michael and everything he had experienced that day. Jules mirrored Michael in many ways, though Jules was significantly less outgoing. He was no less helpful and selfless, though, as he had vague memories of nine-year-old Jules trying to help keep him comfortable both before and after Moffitt had been in the hospital with pneumonia. It was the closest Moffitt would get to having his brother still around, and he hoped Jules would maintain that sweet and helpful demeanor throughout the rest of his life.

Cambridge, Great Britain

Several days after returning home, Moffitt tried making a difficult decision on his own, without saying anything to anyone. Not Vanora, not Anah, not Jules, not even his father. He was alone in the house, with Vanora running errands and Jules and Anah were out on horseback ride. Eventually, he finished his cup of tea, and wrote a brief note for anyone who came back before he did.

He tacked up his horse, a young dappled Arabian mare named Frostcloud, and rode north, stopping at a large and quiet cemetery. After making sure Frostcloud was secured, Moffitt walked into the cemetery. He knew where he was going, but went slowly, not wanting to disturb anyone whose soul lingered around there. The only presences he could see were that of two ravens perched on the headstone he was looking for. He knelt by the headstone, in his family's plot. He found it a bit disturbing that there were already markers for his parents when their time came. That wasn't something he wanted to think about.

At least his parents would live long lives. The date of 1917-1943 was far too short on Michael's headstone. There were small pots of flowers and other remembrance tokens around the stone. Moffitt's vision blurred with tears. A tight feeling started in his chest and worked its way up his throat. For a moment, he wasn't sure why he was there. I had to come sooner or later. He drew in a breath. It was difficult to swallow, and so he gave up on fighting. I've bottled up enough. His eyes stung, and he clenched his fists. "I'm not going to stop missing you, but I'm so… so tired of hurting. I'm tired of being afraid of hurting. I'm tired of feeling guilty. I'm tired of… everything."

He stared at the headstone for a long time, uncertain of what to say or do. He sighed, tears rolling down his face. "Goodness, you wouldn't want me sitting here. I know, but… I've been meaning to come here for a long time. I just never had the courage to do so. I always found it too painful. Now… recently, I've been trying to revisit some memories with you. I think I'm ready to stop hurting. I think. I don't know if that'll ever be true. I just… want to be able to remember you without feeling like I'm being punched in the chest. Is that too much to ask? Sometimes, I feel like it is."

Moffitt let the choking sensation take over for a little while, letting tears fall until the choking feeling ceased. He unclenched his fists, a somewhat calmer feeling spreading through him. "You did so much for me, and I never had the chance to repay you." He drew in and released another breath. "I love you so much."

The two ravens had been still and quiet, aside from the breeze gently ruffling their black feathers. They both eventually turned to fly away, but Moffitt remained in front of the grave for a bit longer. He did so until he felt he had no more tears to shed, until there was nothing more he needed to say, until he was able to tell himself that he would see his brother again someday. That day wouldn't come soon, and Moffitt was in no hurry for it to come. He would always miss Michael, but he had other people he loved and cared about dearly. He knew Michael would tell him to treasure them, and treasure them he would.