The hand of violence bowed before them, wanting his life taken for those he killed. All four of the siblings stopped and stared, but it was the Goddess of the Moon who spoke up first, her expression turning sour as she stomped a hoof angrily into the ground. A pillar of black smoke puffed in front of her features as she moved, the black curling seductively from her nostrils. Silver eyes turned hard, like steel, and she looked between the siblings and her sunny brother's idiot practically laying on the ground like some dog!

"As if you need more proof!" She bellowed, using her delicate nose to indicate his position to her siblings.

"Their nobility is their undoing. We have turned natural, self-reliant creatures into these puppets!" The Goddess turned to leave then, glaring at the gathering crowed and then stopping as a chubby stallion and his bear-loving bitch called for her death. She erupted in black smoke, the magic curling from her body powerful, creating static tension in the air that crackled and smoldered in a cold way - a way that seemed to drain your very will.

"You can't kill me, fools," she hissed. Part of her, perhaps, felt for the mother of the earth's boy. But that emotion was fleeting. She should have raised him to be different, stronger and not so impulsive. The goddess paused, her hardened stare churning ever so slightly with what she was feeling deep inside. "Besides. Death is only the beginning." Maybe that would give her some measure of comfort - knowing that here, now, was not the end.

The mare all but ignored the sun's daughter, her tiny, barely year-old form not perturbing in the slightest. She gave the filly a wry smile before making her graceful, shameful exit.


Pain stabbed his heart as he looked upon the prone stallion's face, but the God of the Earth knew that he could not blame this mortal for the actions of his sibling. He had lost so much, cost him so much, and perhaps, in this moment, he understood the anger of the Sun God and the isolation of the Time God. Staying away, staying angry... well... all of those masked the pain of loving and losing. "Rise," he murmured, quiet enough for only him to hear. "You have my forgiveness, Gaucho. I wish this had never happened to you."

The god looked out at the angry, yelling rabble. "This is not the fault of Gaucho." He announced. If he could forgive the king of the the Throat, so should the rest. Ophelia, it seemed, had no problems forgiving, even despite her personal losses at his powers.

He and the God of the Sun watched her as she made it known that Gaucho still had allies, and they hoped that this trend would continue, that Ophelia, who had at first blamed him, was now forgiving. If only she could help her sister feel the same way. The God of Time wondered if it were Roskuld if she would be so forgiving. Still, Hototo was her family too; her nephew. The hearts of mortals were always so unpredictable, but in this case, honorable.

Why could the Earth God not protect his son? That question was difficult to answer, but those who saw knew that everything had happened so quickly. The final blow had been taken, and his son deserved a better life. He had fulfilled his responsibilities and earned his peace. "No, Ktulu," the draft-god rumbled, tragedy etched on his handsome face. "I cannot take you. Your son is... our son is... he is finally at peace, rewarded for his responsibilities and honored for his actions. He will watch over us all from his station at our side," he promised, hoping that his metaphysical glory would help ease the pain of his mortal death.

The god turned his steely, emerald gaze to Cera now, frowning in disappointment. "More death will not avenge Hototo. He is comfortable now, at peace. His energy fills this world with the beauty of his heart. We do not kill and we do not interfere. Your family is free to make their own decisions, as are you." And it was true. The actions of the gods might cause ripples, but none of them directly killed. Even now, the moon god used Gaucho to make a point. Murder happened among mortals.

Ah, but the earth god was far more patient that the god of time. He glared hard at the whining whelps, snorting as a snap of lighting cracked in the sky. "So quick to blame," he growled. "You all had the means and opportunity to stop him. In fact, Ophelia, Megaera, Mauja and Torleik confronted him and did nothing. And you, Cera? What have you done to help your own mortal kind bring justice to this killer? Nothing..."

The God of the Sun shared his sentiments, though he felt compassion for Ophelia. She had tried, where the others had not. "The loss is regrettable, but permanent. You can rebuild your lives, or you can continue to rage against the way of things instead of working to change it. Your choice, really." The God of the Sun wanted nothing more than to take Ophelia and Gaucho beneath his wing and protect them as they walked around from this mob, but he stood fast, unwilling to let his brothers see the two soft spots these mortals had bored into his violence.

"Trees will honor each of the fallen. Each deserves... so much more. Keep their memories strong. Visit their boughs in all seasons. In this way, you can ensure them life." The God of the Earth looked at the tree of his sons, standing in awe and deaf to the world as he meditated on his greatest loss.