In a certain cliff a few miles from Hampshire the breeze moved leaving a sound like that of a sweet lullaby. The sky above it was all blue, marred by some snow colored cloud that scattered all over it unorganized. The clouds were moving, unlike the man who stood beneath it.
There at the cliff stood the youngest Montreal with his dear friends. Huzey stood at his back uttering no sound while Xhemin was leaning on him, giving him warmth and comfort. They were all standing in front of a grave made of stone and granite and they stood there for minutes not saying anything although their hearts could hear the sound of the secret unsaid cries that surrounded the place. It was the cry of Ziggy's heart, shattered unrepairable. There were no tears in his face as honestly, he seemed to have lost all of his senses that not even his numb heart could make him flinch.
