Behind Drake, a few footsteps came slowly from the shade, and a quieter voice said, "...I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."

Abel stood next to Drake over the crosses with a dull, dispirited look in his eye. The younger boy put his hands in his jeans' pockets as he traced the blooms with his eyes and remembered those whom the Forgotten had lost in the last scuffle. It hurt Abel, that after so many adults had died, people could still bring themselves to senseless violence and resort to petty war. The attack by the Scorps was unprovoked, and though they had their reasons, Abel couldn't justify their actions. The sun was low on the horizon, and most of the people who attended the funeral had already gone. The only people who remained were people who were especially close to the deceased, people who hung onto those memories that just as well could have slipped through other people's fingers. Abel didn't fit into that category well, but the dead were close enough to Abel for him to hang around.

Abel could never withhold from crying in the face of terrible tragedy. Emotional videos about 9/11, songs sung about humanitarian aid, incredibly spiritual hymns that perhaps stretched beyond religion, all of them pulled at his heartstrings easily. Still, no matter how heavy it got, Abel never gave up. For the life of him, he couldn't figure it out. He clung to whatever hope he could salvage. He tried to stay strong, and Abel did it for other people even if he suffered deeply on the inside. His natural empathy drove him to stay by the graves and stand by Drake. Had he not cared for either of those things, Abel might have never bothered. But he stayed, and he lamented. There was nothing else to do or say about it.