The stone was located beneath a weeping willow and the wind howled throughthe branches. His eyes closed, he recited the religious prayer his mother hadtaught him as a young child. The sky above him was cloudy, a storm soonapproaching. The stone in front of him was that of his parents, who had beenkilled when their house had burnt down only a year earlier.Through the wind and blowing leaves, he heard another voice far away. Itwas a female voice. He thought that it was just his ear being fooled by the wind,but he stood up, opened his eyes, and gazed around the old hills, covered withstones similar to that of his parents. Fifty feet away stood a beautiful brownhaired woman. She was clad in black, and her hair was blowing in the wind. Sheseemed to be talking to someone but there was no one there. Dimitrian frownedand weaved between stones to stand next to her.“Good afternoon,” Dimitrian greeted her.“Good afternoon,” she answered. He could see tears welled up in her stunning green eyes. He glanced slowly over at the stone and read the namesengraved into it: Othos and Patrica Fuhr. The deceased must be her parents aswell, he hypothesized. He extended his hand, palm up. “Dimitrian Othena,” hesaid, bowing his head slightly.“Gwendolyn Fuhr,” she answered monotonously, not extending her hand.“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to someone, and I thought thatyou might be addressing me,” he said, his arm falling back to his side.“I’m sorry,” she blushed slightly. “Sometimes I think that they can hear mebetter if I talk to them aloud.” She gestured to the stone.