The stonework was old, the writing weathered by the wind. Spock's eyes
darted across the tombstones, most neglected by the relatives of the
deceased, forgotten in the daily tussle that was life. Remembered only by
the birds that perched on them.
The path was windy, darting in and out of erratically arranged graves, the
cemetery seemingly older than time itself. His starfleet issue boots caught
on the occasional lifted paver leaving a smear of moss on their sleek
He had come in search of a memory.
The memory of a vibrant smile and golden gaze.
Taken from him by time.
He knew he would not find it here. But he came anyway.
After several twists and turns, he finally reached the monument, its elegant
grace topped by a fluttering flag of the Federation, stark in its newness
against the aged and old, and finding the name in the small list, he ran his
fingertips over the brass letters.
He had been right.
The memory wasn't here. Just a name. An impression of who the man had been
for those who had not known him.
But Spock had.
And he knew he wasn't here.
Spock turned to walk away determined to seek out what he was looking for
But he was stopped as suddenly a breeze swooped in from the still air and
churned the trees around him.
Flowers fell in his hair.
He looked up to see the arching branches of an ancient cherry tree, doused
in a brilliant display of blossom. The breeze laughed, and petals fell in
his eyes, their soft, feather-like touch brushing across his cheeks before
falling once again, only to be caught by the earth.
The touch was familiar.
Like the touch of a mind.
The breeze whispered.
And Spock found his memory.