The clouds hung low over the field, covering all with somber gray clouds. The grave was fresh, the soil dark and jagged from recent rain, surrounded by trampled patchy grass and vacant footprints.

Jean stood a few feet away, frozen, his head slightly bowed, hands in pockets. The wind tugged at the edges of his jacket, but he didn't move. Didn't even flinch. You noticed how his shoulders rose but once, abruptly, as though he were holding something back that was unable to keep quiet forever.