The ice and cold gnawed through the fabric of the black robes, biting his skin. The man cared not. He had a task at hand. His hands grew numb from the cold, tearing through the dirt and clawing away through the earth with his bare hands as he dug. Sharp stones cut his skin, blood and tears into the earth.
Egfor stares at the small pit he had dug, a dull ache crept up slowly through his arms. He stares blankly at it. He would have ridden North. Far North to Forochel to bury the remains in the land of the departed's birth. He lacked the strength to do so right now. He knew if he did so, he would not return. But oh how tempting that fate sounded right now. How tempting it would be to taste a sweet poison and be reunited with his love. To let the cold and elements wrack his mortal prison and free his soul, to become one with nature beyond Man's wildest dreams.
His soul was hurting. He was wondering how much more he could take. With each loss, he felt a bit of his humanity slipping away, he felt the stone harden and the ice set in. Soon, Egfor reckoned, there would be naught but a heartless beast left. He felt he was no stag, no rabbit, nor even a wolf... He was something much more dark, much more twisted. People kept telling this man that he had a soft, gentle heart. He did not feel it, certainly not now.
He moved to carefully place the black cloth wrapped bundle of the remains into the pit he dug. He couldn't bear to see his face in death, not like this. This was not how he wanted to remember him. He lined the tiny grave with items for the afterlife: a flask of mead, a handful of coins, an ornamental knife, and a folded wolf pelt.
He starts quietly in Rohirric, his voice barely above a whisper, quivering:
Fore thaem neidfaerae naenig uuiurthit
thoncsnotturra, than him tharf sie
to ymbhycggannae aer his hiniongae
huaet his gastae godaes aeththa yflaes
aefter deothdaege doemid uueorthae.
((Before that needful journey in which none may avoid
No man becomes more wise in thought than him, who in need,
before his going away, about how his soul, its good and evil, will be judged.
Bede's Death Song, 735 A.D))
Egfor falls silent for a long moment, slowly covering the miniscule grave, handful by handful. He presses the earth down, staring blankly at it for what felt like an eternity. The rising sun started to warm his his back, though he does not feel it.
He throws back his head and lets out a wretched wail, one that would shake the gods and ancestors to their core. A sound so shattered and broken, as if all lost loves and mourning throughout ages past of all civilizations poured through this man in this moment. Grief and anguish rent through him. Strangled sounding sobs tearing from his chest till his voice started cracking and dying.
He lowered his head to his chest, his golden locks curtained and cascaded around his face, his own mourner's veil. He sat there for spirits know how long. He cared not for where the sun happened to find itself when he lifted his head slowly, his hair still veiling his face.
His tongue darted out, wetting dry and cracked lips. He raised his hand in a closed fist to his chest, right over his heart. He had neglected to grab his deer-skin drum in his haste. He will have to make do. He starts slowly drumming a steady, slow beat on his chest with his hand. His body shudders for a moment before his raspy, broken voice starts to sing in the tongue of his mother's people.
One did not need to know the tongue of Dunland to understand what he was singing about- a song about loss. He sang for the lost child, for his friend, for his lover. He sang for them all. He sang for those he lost he has not sung for yet. His song was melodic and hauntingly beautiful. His voice wavered and broken before he couldn't carry on anymore, more grief wracked and wretched sobs coming from him.
There he sat and wept till he had no energy or tears left to spend. He slowly lurched to his feet. The cold had seized his muscles and made him stumble and sway. He murmurs, "Rest well my love, I shall hold you in the next life.. I am sorry, so sorry.." He tears himself away and heads into town, wiping his face on his sleeve as he stumbled along.
Time did not stand still for one man's sorrows...
