A stray leaf falls from a nearby tree, drifting gracefully in a gentle spiral until it passes Clair's head, his ear moving to make way for it.  As it settles on the cold cobbled path he does as well, lowering from a sitting position to lie down, his chin settled on his forehooves bare inches from the edge of the grave.  Another long moment passes before a slow, low rumble escapes his throat.  "Happy birthday, Clarity."

His horn glows a dim white and from the sleeve of his robe emerges a black-stemmed yellow rose, which he places on the center of the grave.  "I brought you a present.  Your favorite."  A gust of wind comes up and rolls the flower to the edge, and Clair rolls it back.  "I'll put it with the rest later, but I knew you'd want to see it.  You know I have trouble with colors."

Clair rolls over onto his back, his hooves curling up above him, mane falling from his face.  "...I miss you."