Mourning had come to the land.
The wilson's son had kicked the bucket and would soon be brought back to the earth. It had been an accident but there were whispered rumors of foul play. The tears streamed from the eyes of the young wilsons mother, no cotton cloth could hold back her sorrow. Sorrow that echoed across the plains, past the mountains into the wild land beyond.
Solemn, stoic stood the no more wilsons father,standing side by side with the younger son, the living brother.
"Brother, brother",whispers left the lips of the living wilson, falling on deaf ears that could never again answer the oath of blood.
The morning sun rose, shining the light of days so many passed on the wilsons homestead, but this light brought on the day of a new beginning and a sad end. The casket housing young wilsons remains bounced and slid alng the wood carriage of the morticians cart. Wilsons mother, creeks combining and forging themselves into rivers rolled down her cheeks, the cloth comes up to her mouth to stifle a scream.
"Help your mother boy." the stoic father orders, not able to move from his roots for fear of collapsing to the ground, leaving the young wilson stading alone.
Morning has come to the Wilson homestead.