"I'm Misa, her adopted sister. I assume she didn't talk about me much?" If she did, I wasn't listening." He took her hand, his own still gloved. Neither had talked about family much. There had been much more pressing matters. "Good to meet you." They didn't say you came here." They wouldn't know." He assumed Misa was talking about her family. He had not seen any since the Funeral. No reason he would, despite tear filled words spoken in mourning. His hand released hers, both his hands retreating to his coat pockets. He felt his keys. "I really should be going. I'm not a fan of these places." Me either." Her eyes slid towards the grave. They returned to him. "Look, would you like to go someplace? Talk?"His eyes slid upward. Snow clouds were overhead, the first new flakes hitting his nose. As good an excuse as any."No. Sorry, but no. Not today. I have to be going. It was good to meet you." A bit rude, perhaps, but he really wasn't in the mood. He turned his back to her, walking around. (*The McKinnon definition of "unwounded" appeared to be "able to walk and carry arms" as evidenced by the multiplicity of blood stained field dressings.)The last two biers, carrying the bodies of young men, rode smoothly on antigrav over the dirt path accompanied by stricken faced armed young women in chameleon armour with leashed head pieces, wearing Lovat green Glengarries with their black and red diced band and the Regimental Brooch of the once 8th Bn KOH (The McKinnons — long stricken from the Military List for its mass desertion after the Supersoldiers' War) - women must always be covered. This cortege was led by two men, large even by the standards of the McKinnons, in matt black armour with headpieces leashed, and was followed by a thickset man with a very lived in face, now creased with sadness, in a space black uniform of a style favoured by navies on whose arm walked a thin woman, clad in ankle length black, with an equally thin face which had seen much grief in her long.
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