Memories of their homey cave rose up to overwhelm him with the familiar smell of her hair, vivid as a sunset. His tears dampened her collar. This wasn't like the Obon festival, when her smile had been beautiful through a filter of gold, and her touch had been light like a breeze - her voice as clear and true and near as it was now, but the substance of her presence gone.

She was here, and he never wanted to risk letting her go to fade away.

"I'm sorry," burst out of him, through his tears, muffled by her kimono. "Mother - I tried to come for Obon last year - the rain destroyed the lanterns and put out the lights - I tried to talk to you anyway but I couldn't - I tried -"