First, they lowered Dahlia’s casket, then they lowered Marius’s and Yonda’s. As the caskets disappeared into the dark, damp graves dug into the soft ground of the chapel, a flute sang softly, playing Dahlia’s favourite tune. Tears fell from Harm’s eyes. Not able to watch as his family was laid to rest. Dahlia’s mother gripped Harm’s arm, her nails digging into his flesh as she wailed. Dahlia’s father stood beside his wife, stoically, his cheeks shining with the river of tears that fell, but he did not wish to show his broken emotions.
When Harm arrived at Dahlia's parents and informed them of what had befallen Dahlia and the kids, they wept endlessly. Harm’s own emotions provided the backdrop of the evil that had overcome them.
Many townsfolk were now present at the funeral. Even Satil stood nearer the rear of the gathered crowd, his son by his side. Both wore black sashes, a sign of respect for the dead.
All had loved Dahlia; she had been born in the town, and only after they had wed had her parents moved to the village on the edge of the plain. And the children... everyone had loved the children. Yonda, with her free spirit, and Marius, with his love of farming. Many of their friends stood with their parents. There was not a dry eye anywhere. Jeffer, a local man who looked after the chapel grounds, started filling in the graves. Harm couldn’t take any more as he heard the soil land on the casket in the grave. He fell to his knees, Dahlia’s mother joining him as they knelt, hugging in their grief.
“Thank you,” Dahlia’s father said as those who had been attending the funeral left.
Harm remained on his knees, his head in his hands, unable to break from his despair and heartache.
“WHY?” Harm suddenly screamed, anger, frustration, and pain leaving him as he punched the ground, making those nearby jump and look toward him with pity and sorrow on their faces.
Eventually, Dahlia’s mother was gently lifted by her father once everyone had left. “Come, Harm. Your friends are waiting for you at the inn,” her father said, supporting his wife’s frail frame.
Harm looked at him, his eyes bloodshot, with large dark circles around them. He hadn’t slept properly since awakening at Wes’s. He still hadn’t returned to the farmstead. He had no reason to. His family and his livelihood were gone. The herd had been his only income, and with their death, he now had nothing.
“I will be along in a while,” he said, turning back to the now-filled graves. Jeffer was busy smoothing the mounds created by the displaced soil. As he finished, he placed his shovel in the wheelbarrow before moving off to the chapel storage shed. In a town the size of Sallew, funerals happened infrequently. Never could anyone remember the loss of so many of one family at once.
It wasn’t until much later that Wes returned to the grave, finding Harm still sitting, staring blankly at his family’s last resting place. A friend of Yonda's had returned with her mother and placed a freshly picked bunch of wildflowers at the foot of her grave. Harm had tried to smile and thank the girl, but his words caught in his throat as her mother had led her away again.
“Harm,” Wes said gently as he approached. His soft, fatherly tone broke Harm’s emotionless gaze. No tears fell. Still, Harm just stared blankly, a husk of the man he once was. His shoulders were hunched, his body crumpled like a rag-doll, where he knelt.
“Come on, Harm. The lights fading. You can’t stay here overnight. You know Dahlia wouldn’t want you to wallow in self-pity.”
Harm’s face turned to one of anger as he snapped. “How would you know what Dahlia would have wanted?”
Wes smiled, speaking softly. “Dahlia was a light in this town, Harm. We all knew her well before you stole her heart as a young adventurer. She only ever wanted happiness and love, and that’s what you gave her. She will be turning in her grave seeing you this way. You must move forward.”
“I have nothing to move forward for,” Harm replied, his face down-turned again.
Wes walked up to him, placing his hand gently on his shoulder. “Come, Harm, please. Even if not to the Inn. Let’s at least get you home. You'll catch your death staying out here.” Wes slowly placed his hand under his arm and, with some effort, started to half-drag, half-lift Harm to his feet. Harm was no small man. Once he was standing, Wes looked at the fresh graves and said a blessing before he placed his arm around Harm’s shoulder and guided him away from his family’s graves.
