The air is especially chill this Autumn day, the wind more biting than usual despite the brightness of the sun. An early and stiff reminder of what the next season would bring, it's enough to keep some ponies inside and encourage others to wear at least one layer more than usual for extended outings. Not that most would need a reason to stay away from this place at most times. A cemetery isn't most ponies' idea of a place to go voluntarily anyway. Not that this stops all of them, of course. Even today there is the occasional mourner, bringing bouquets, individual flowers, or nothing but their tears to the final resting place of a loved one come and passed away. Today even the trees weep leaves for the ended lives they preside over, a more or less constant cascade of oranges, reds, yellows, and browns as the season progresses towards a time when the bark will be completely bare, lifeless husks until Spring comes to breathe green into the world again.
Clairvoyance takes no notice of any of it as he walks the cobbled walk along the aisles. The cold of the air matters to him naught on his ponderous trek to his destination, his hooves making no sound to mark his progress. A mourner, having delivered her burden already, nods to him as she passes him going the other way, a tear falling from her face to make a soft plip where it lands. He takes no note of it either, nor the contrast of her black garb versus the pristine whiteness of his robe. His pace is slow but constant as it draws him inexorably farther and farther from his house.
After the better part of an hour from when he began, he turns down the last turning in the last lot and walks down it to the very end. At the terminus of that walkway is a single headstone. It's possible that it was once elaborately carved and might have even been larger, but the years have worn it down, smoothing the stone until it looks rather unremarkable, the letters that once marred its surface indecipherable. The earth in front of the headstone is so long settled that if it wasn't for the grave marker there would be no way to tell it had ever been disturbed. It's in front of this grave that Clairvoyance turns, lays his rump down on the cold cobbles, and sits silently, motionless aside from the sway of his mane in the chill wind.