*Lingering still after the mourners had cleared the grassy hill side, Tinker emerges from behind the Great Oak whose shade will shelter the grave and it's stone for generations to come.
Kneeling at the edge of the kerf he presses his plams into the earth, looks over his shoulders again for a clear scene, then reaches down to the lid of the case.
Raking his fingers through the soil, he strokes her coffin for the last time, then raises back to his feet for his last glimpse of her, so tucked down for sleep.
Tinker digs his hands deep into his pockets, rubbing the soil into the fabric of his breeks as he walks back to his horse. Standing there he takes his hands from his pockets and holds them to his face, taking into his heart and into his head the ageless scent of sod. The horse turns it's head back and presses it's snout under his chin
Time to carry on.
Up and ready to ride, he checks his gear and secures his rifle. Hunter and horse circle the Oak then head North into the forest - off to the chase in the old woods...*

--Tinker