The sky above the Blackwood castle was a muted, overcast grey, mirroring the somber mood of the mourners gathered in the estate's family burial ground. A chill wind whispered through the trees, rustling the black mourning clothes of the assembled nobility. Lord Evan's funeral was, as Ryan had intended, a relatively simple affair, free from the showy display Evan himself might have wanted in life.
A sturdy, unadorned oak coffin rested beside the newly dug grave. The priest intoned the familiar rites from the Book of Common Prayer. His words, "Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery," drifted over the quiet gathering. He spoke of the resurrection and the life to come, his gaze sweeping over the bowed heads.
