Silence of the Grief

After an entire night of sitting next to his mother, as the sun was casting bright light, Amukelo decided to take a shovel with him and go outside. The chilling winds of the storm did nothing to deter Amukelo as he trudged through the thick snow toward the village graveyard, a shovel gripped tightly in his hands. His mind was numb, locked in a state of mechanical action, driven solely by the need to lay his mother to rest. The cold bit into his skin, but he barely noticed, his grief acting as a shield against the physical elements.

From her window, Eagor's mother witnessed Amukelo's lonely figure cutting through the storm, ill-equipped for the weather without a jacket or coat. Concerned, she called out to Eagor, "I have no idea where he is going with that shovel, and he doesn't even have proper clothes for this weather."

Eagor, hearing the worry in his mother's voice, peered out and saw his friend's silhouette in the blizzard. A horrible realization dawned on him, and a sense of urgency gripped his heart. "I... I hope it's not what I'm thinking," he muttered, fear lacing his words. Without a second thought, he grabbed the thickest jacket he owned and dashed out the door, his parents left behind in confusion and concern.

Running against the biting wind, Eagor finally reached the graveyard where he found Amukelo relentlessly digging through the frozen ground. "Amukelo! Amukelo!" he called out, his voice barely audible over the howl of the storm.

But Amukelo seemed lost to the world, his actions mechanical and his eyes devoid of life—a shell moved by raw, unprocessed grief. Eagor caught up to him and pulled him into a hug, trying to break through the barrier of despair that enveloped his friend.

It took a moment for Amukelo to even register the presence of another person. "Huh... Eagor? Let me go, I have to dig," he muttered, his voice hollow, his body rigid in Eagor's embrace.

"No, Amukelo... You don't have to do anything," Eagor insisted, his voice firm yet thick with emotion.

It was only then, in the warmth of his friend's determined grip, that the dam holding back Amukelo's emotions finally burst. He collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face as the reality of his loss fully settled upon him. Eagor quickly draped the thick jacket around Amukelo's shoulders, pulling him close in a protective hug.

The two sat there in the snow, Amukelo's cries muffled against Eagor's chest. Eagor felt a profound sadness that he hadn't known earlier about Lyna's condition worsening and couldn't offer his support sooner. As Amukelo's sobs slowly subsided, replaced by shivering breaths, Eagor helped him to his feet.

"Let's go home, Amukelo. It's too cold, and you need to rest," Eagor said gently, guiding his friend away from the grave. "We can take care of everything later, together."

As they walked back through the storm, Eagor kept his arm around Amukelo, sharing his warmth and strength.

Amukelo stumbled back into his home, guided by Eagor's steady hand. Every step felt heavy, each movement mechanical and devoid of purpose beyond the need to simply keep moving. As soon as he reached his bed, the exhaustion that had been accumulating over the past sleepless days enveloped him like a thick blanket. With his physical and emotional reserves completely depleted, sleep overtook him almost instantaneously. His last conscious thought was a blurred image of his mother's peaceful, yet lifeless face.

Eagor left alone in the quiet of the house, took a moment to cover Amukelo properly, ensuring he was warm. Then, with a heavy heart, he turned to face Lyna. The sight of her still form brought a profound sadness. He knew her as a kind and strong woman, the heart of this home. The reality of her passing was a stark reminder of how fragile life could be. Eagor's heart ached not only for the loss of a woman who had been like an aunt to him but also for his friend whose world had just been irrevocably altered.

The following day dawned quieter, the storm had spent its fury overnight. A thick, serene blanket of snow covered the village, muting the usual sounds of daily life. Amukelo woke to this muted world, his eyes opening to the soft, diffused light of a sun struggling to pierce the cloud-covered sky. His sleep, unfortunately, didn't bring him any peace, his mind was filled with restless dreams that replayed the previous days' events over and over.

Eagor, who had stayed by his friend's side through the night, was the first to speak, breaking the heavy silence of the morning. "They are preparing for the ceremony," he said softly, his voice careful and measured. "They're digging the grave now. We'll say farewell to your mother this afternoon."

Amukelo nodded silently, his face unreadable. He rose from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, and together with Eagor, he joined the others in the village who had gathered to dig the grave. The work was hard, but the physical effort was a temporary distraction for Amukelo, whose thoughts seemed to drift far from the task at hand.

The funeral ceremony took place that afternoon. The village came together in a somber procession, their faces etched with grief and compassion. Amukelo stood amongst them, a lone figure of stoic sorrow. Throughout the ceremony, he remained silent, his eyes rarely leaving the simple wooden coffin that held his mother. His face, usually so expressive and lively, was now a mask of quiet desolation.

As the last words were spoken and the villagers began to disperse, Eagor lingered, offering his presence as a silent pillar of support. He knew that Amukelo needed space yet also needed to know he wasn't alone. After ensuring that everything was in order and Amukelo was as comfortable as could be expected, Eagor left, promising to return soon.

Amukelo spent the next day much like the last, sitting beside the bed where his mother had spent the last months of her life. His vigil was a silent testament to his unspoken pain and the bond that had been severed too soon. It was only as the second day drew to a close that he felt a restless energy begin to stir within him. Without a word, Amukelo stood up, left the house, and began walking aimlessly through the village.

The cold didn't bother him, or perhaps it was that his internal turmoil was so intense that it overshadowed any physical discomfort. His wandering took him to the familiar path, the one that led to Syltar's hut—a path that he and Eagor had traveled many times filled with anticipation and joy. Now, as he walked the path alone, each step felt like a move towards something he couldn't yet understand, a desperate need for guidance, for an understanding that seemed just beyond reach.

As the trees of the forest closed around him, the world seemed to narrow down to the very path he trod. His pace slowed, his heart heavy with a mix of dread and need. Finally, he reached the hut, the sight of it so familiar yet so starkly different from his current state of mind. Amukelo paused at the door, his hand raised to knock, his breath visible in the cold air, each puff a reminder of the life continuing within him despite the gaping void left by his mother's departure.