Harvey said nothing, inhaled deeply to calm the tremble in his hand. The gunshot still rang in his ears. The body crumpled to the ground in front of him and, thankfully, didn't move again.
"You make the marker," he told Nathan. The young man behind him nodded. "I'll dig the grave."
When the two had begun their partnership, they would take turns in the process, to keep it fair. Nathan did as he was told, hands bleeding with blisters as he dug the perfunctory six feet, while Harvey found something decent to shove into the ground at the head of the body he had put in there. But it didn't escape his notice the skill Nathan displayed when it was his turn to make a remembrance for the freshly dead. Harvey didn't have big thoughts when he was shoveling dirt, but he noted the young man’s long fingers weave back and forth, carving, painting, cleaning some scrap metal with somber intensity.
It was art, Harvey thought, and that was as grand as his thoughts would go.
So the next time it was