Work Text:
Lucy’s boots crunched in the snow. The sound was so reminiscent of her childhood, she almost felt like she was seven again, trailing after Mary in her winter hand-me-downs, stepping slow and then fast, light and then firm, listening for which gave the most satisfying crunch.
How had she ever been so young that all she had to worry about was the sound of snow beneath her feet?
She laid pine boughs on each grave in turn: Paul, Steph, Alfie, Joy, Norrie.
She stood in the cemetery until dusk, then turned and walked home, boots landing heavily with each step.