It would be hard, moving on. While the rain slaked the thirsty ground, there was something broken, jagged and dirty inside him that water couldn't wash away. The fistful of cold mud dribbled through his clenched fingers, but even the drab tailings were quickly washed away.

"Ashes to ashes; dust to dust," the priest intoned, and he cast the glob he'd been clutching into the grave that gaped before him. People were lined up behind him, waiting their turn to help bury her.

Everyone would move on. Everyone except him, because he knew that she was still out there somewhere.