Oscar lost all thought as his mind blanked into nothingness. Resting his hands on the tombstones, Oscar found he had no strength in his cold fingers and lost his grip, and his knees dropped to the floor, softly rustling on the grass. Before him, the names of his parents, well-carved into the tombstones, stood at eye level. His right hand softly stroked along the name of his father, Henry Terr, and his left hand palmed his mother's, Gwen Terr, but he slipped again and fell on all fours, now clenching the dirt over his parents' buried bodies.

His fingers curled and scratched the ground, digging a little deeper, an inch more. He realized what he was attempting to do and stopped himself from ruining the graveyards, patting the dirt and grass to fill and level the ground back to normal. He almost lost it and tried to dig them out, the burning desire to see them nearly crushing his sanity. He felt powerless and hit his head against the grass, banging his fist on the ground.

He couldn't see them. He couldn't talk to them. He couldn't receive his mother's loving pecks on the forehead and cheek. He couldn't receive his father's crushing bear hugs. He couldn't eat her stew anymore. He couldn't walk around the farm with his father's bear-like laughter next to him. Not anymore. They were gone for good. Only six feet divided him from them below, but he could never be with them again.

"I'm sorry," Oscar whimpered. "I'm sorry."

Apologies poured out from his lips, as many as the individual droplets of tears cascading down his face like an endless waterfall. Hour by hour, his throat never ran hoarse or weak, instead growing louder and louder until he started to shout out his sorries. Underneath the bleakness of the two setting suns, shadows roamed around, the shapes of crows passing through, one after another until a whole murder of them surrounded him and his parents under the darkness of their wings. They cawed as if mocking him for his loss.

"Shut up!" Oscar cried. Ein washed over the entire graveyard like a cleansing fire, washing over every blade of grass and every tombstone until stopping at the brittle, rusted fences. The crows dispersed, scurrying away as fast as their wings could carry them. But Oscar didn't feel an ounce of comfort in leaving their shadows as the two suns finally set and a darker shadow cast over the land. A raindrop landed on his head, and soon a squall followed. Flashes of light came and went as the thunder roared in pursuit.

"Os. I'm sorry." Fred said from the side. Erden beside him was bowing his head in respect.

"Is the farm still there?" Oscar asked hoarsely.

"Yes." Fred nodded. "It's still there. Uncle Carlson took over the place and has been keeping it running."

"He's alive?" Oscar was surprised and rushed to Fred, grabbing and shaking him.

"He is! He's still there. At his home." Fred answered.

Oscar didn't wait a moment and flew into the storm, heading straight for Uncle Carlson's home. Within a minute, he descended on the same old dirt path he had traveled on many times in the past. A small home was at the end of the path, and a faint light flickered faintly behind the flooding rain. But to Oscar, that light was as clear as the two suns in broad daylight. He sank his feet through the slick mud, climbed the small steps, and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" An old, weak, yet lively voice answered from inside. Light footsteps creaked closer, louder than the pounding rain in his ears. The door slowly opened as the voice inside spoke, "Who would have any business he–" He caught gazes with Oscar, and he stopped moving. The old man stammered and pointed his shaky, wrinkly, and gnarled finger at Oscar. "Y-y-you…."

The elder had a few strands of white hair left on his nearly bald head. His face was so much skinnier than before, the flesh shaved down to the cheekbones, and his mouth held fewer teeth. It was Uncle Carlson. His other hand feebly held a lantern and brought it closer to Oscar's face, clearly wishing for a closer look, and he cupped the left side of his cheek. Feeling the trembling hand on his face, Oscar smiled and wiped off his tears. When did that lively uncle become this old and weak?

Oscar asked, "Uncle Carlson. Can I come inside?"

"It's you! It's you!" Uncle Carlson let out a wheezing laughter. "Oscar! It's you! Come in. Come in." His voice nearly cracked several times, and his breathing was uneven. Oscar held Uncle Carson by the shoulder and helped him back inside. He could feel the waning life in his hands, nearly at the end of its rope.

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He helped Uncle Carlson to a chair near the small table and sat on the opposite side. He took two cups and a jug of water from his space pocket and poured some out for the old man. After Uncle Carlson drank some of the water and cleared his throat, Oscar asked, "How have you been?"

"Good. How are you?" Uncle Carlson placed his aged arms, full of wrinkles and liver spots, on the table. "I heard you were dead."

"I survived," Oscar said, tears flowing uncontrollably. "But I was too late."

"You saw the graves…." Uncle Carlson covered his face with his hands as if he was ashamed. "I tried to take care of them…I really did. But Henry and Gwen could not hold on." He gasped and let out high-pitched wheezing as he also cried in his hands.

"Why? Can you tell me why?" Oscar urged.

Uncle Carlson took a moment to gather himself, chugging down his cup. He groaned and said, "After we received the news about your death, your parents broke down. Your father held on, but your mother–" He breathed in, "-your mother was bedridden. A few days later, she was dead."

Dead. Oscar felt nauseous and got up from his chair, shaking his head as his hand held his mouth. He never imagined his mom to have died in that way, sick and in agony of knowing her son was gone. Oscar leaned against the wall and slumped down to the floor, staring at Uncle Carlson. He didn't want to ask, but he had to know. "My father?" He said in a questioning tone.

"Your father, my best friend…and brother, couldn't handle the loss of you and Gwen at the same time. I found him dead and held his body in his hands." Uncle Carlson clenched his raised hands, quivering and sobbing. "He was so cold. I don't know how long he had been dead. They say it was a heart attack."

Oscar looked away and buried himself in his arms. A warm hand tugged on his shoulder, and he held the frail, bony wrist. It was so thin in his large hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Oscar. It's not your fault. They loved you with all their heart, as any parent should." Uncle Carlson patted his shoulder. "In the end, you still made it back. So don't cry, child. They've waited for you all these years, so go and tell them you are back. Put their souls at ease."

Oscar got to his feet and hugged the dying old man. "Thank you, Uncle Carlson. I hope they can forgive me…."

"What did I just say?" Uncle Carlson smacked him on his forehead, strong as a fly landing on his skin. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Go to them with your head held high and pay your respects."

Returning to their seats, Oscar talked with Uncle Carlson through the stormy night, retelling their lives until now. Uncle Carlson smiled and laughed as Oscar told him about his marriage to Avril and congratulated him with another bottle of well-made mead. He listened as Uncle Carlson told his story. His family's farm was still maintained thanks to Uncle Carlson hiring other workers to care for it, and Oscar thanked him. His uncle never spoke about Isabella the entire time, and Oscar picked up on the fact she never came back to visit him even after twenty years.

He didn't delve into it and avoided the topic since Uncle Carlson was still avoiding it. In the end, he shared the mead with the elder and ended the night with smiles across their faces. Lying on the floor, Oscar stared at the uneven ceiling and got up, fixing up the home while Uncle Carlson snored away the night.

"Farewell, Uncle Carlson. I'll come to visit whenever I can." Oscar exited the house and took in the morning air. It was always a shock how the morning after a storm was the most refreshing and relaxing to bask in.

"Go visit your parents and tell them you're doing well. I'll still be here whenever you want to visit. Good luck, Oscar." Uncle Carlson patted his back and waved goodbye as Oscar flew away.

Oscar returned to the gravesites of his parents and knelt before their tombstones. He straightened his back and bowed deeply. He wiped their tombstones clean with a towel, removing the smear of mud from the engraved letters forming their names. He laid an offering of fruits and flowers he gathered from the neighboring forest.

"Mom. Dad. I'm back. It took a long time, but I'm back." Oscar put his hands together as if in prayer. "So much has happened, and I wish I could tell you all face to face. I traveled to many places, met different, unique people, befriended a deer, and, best of all, got married. Her name is Avril." He smiled and palmed his mother's name. "You'd love her, Mom. Thinking about it now, she's like you. The way she looks at me when I work is like you looking at Dad. She pulls my ear when she's angry like you. I wish I could have brought her to see you. I wish we could have had a meal together, and I could listen to you talk to her all day long about Dad and me."

Oscar palmed his Dad's tombstone. "I wonder who's taller now, Dad? I got really tall. I could have been the one bear hugging you to my chest. You'd also love Erden. I know our horses were your pride and joy, but nothing compares to Erden. You could have rode on him, and he'd be the best steed you'd ever known. He can talk too. Imagine if you could talk to your horse. It would have been fun."

"But that's not possible. I heard from Uncle Carlson how you both suffered." Oscar stood up and caressed the tombstones. "Please rest now. Your son is back. Watch over me and smile." He bowed his head and said his farewells.

Exiting the graveyard, Oscar met with Fred and Erden and sighed. They had been elsewhere the entire time, waiting for him to arrive.

"Are you fine now?" Fred asked.

"Fine? No. I'll never be fine. I can only keep moving on and let them know I'm doing my best." Oscar rubbed Erden's head and smiled at Fred. "Let's go to the Pavilion."