The sun rises slowly over the hills, two men, armored, lay as dead. A stone lies on its side. Birds flit from tree to tree with song and life. Sunlight strides inexorably forward, warming the land.
Small lives creep forward to bask, heal, rejoice.
The tomb is empty. Footsteps clatter across the stone, women approach to mourn, bearing spices to leaven the dead. Gravel slides unheeded, clinking and scratching. Footsteps falter and hearts flutter. The sun crests the final hill, light streaming down to earth.