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Hob lost count of how many times he walked all the way to the cemetery, but he could never force himself to cross the gates and go in. Not after the first time, not since he watched as his only son was lowered into the ground. He always knew, although he refused to think about it, that he would have to do this. It was an unspoken part of the deal, he got to keep on living, once a century talking of his experiences to a being that he didn’t know anything about, but that would mean outliving everyone that he cared about.
He didn’t know what it said about him that even now he didn’t want to choose death. Even now he didn’t want to follow his son and his wife into the ground. Maybe that was the reason why he couldn’t visit their graves, because he was ashamed of that. The grief destroyed him, and still he wanted to live, even without them. That had to mean something about him, and it couldn’t be flattering, but still he wanted to live.
The one thing that he knew about himself was that he loved to live, above all else.