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The Wildfire was gone. Though he lived in the hearts and memories of the many lives he had touched during his life, there was still an aching absence felt throughout the God’s herdlands. Gaucho’s presence had pervaded the Dragon’s Throat in a sense of strength and security. But now that the fire was extinguished, it appeared that cold discord permeated the sands, instead.
Though his daughter, Aithniel, had given Gaucho a fiery passing that he would have wanted, it left the herd bereft of anything other than their memories of the Wildfire. And it was clear that they still mourned—a frown crossed over his hot, flame-licked features. Perhaps they needed closure, something resolute and solid. Mortals always seemed attached to material, symbolic things.
Thus, in a slow burn of understanding, the Sun God gradually radiated into solidity alongside the crude, but painstakingly crafted, statue created in the Wildfire’s likeness. “Well done,” molten eyes, more warm than hot, looked down to Zèklè, knowing his meticulous efforts were driven by grief. The God’s flame-framed head looked to Vinati, hot and spiraled horns dipping as he acknowledged the flame-colored crystals the filly sent up along the statue’s wings. “A thoughtful touch,” his hot, godly voice approved of her addition.
He then looked to Ampere, the grieving Mother of Companions, whose volatile nature outwardly showed the depths of her despair. Molten eyes lingered on Tae, understanding but disapproving of her moments of selfishness regarding Vorsa’s skull. She was young, and youth coped with loss however it could.
A hot, deep breath blew out of his golden nostrils as his fire-licked wings began to spread. Plumes of his ever-burning flames engulfed himself and the statue of his chosen Ascended he stood beside. Blistering heat began to spread out around him, smoothing Zèklè creation and tempering it with godly flames.
“The Wildfire’s legacy will live on,” the God’s rumble overtook the Throat in a wave of heat billowing across the sands, shaking the very heart of the herdlands with his absolute conviction. Then, with a final outward blast of heat and flames, the fire sucked back into the Sun God and he was gone.
Left in his stead, however, was the statue. Slightly larger and more refined (for the Sun God’s vanity would not allow imperfections of his chosen) and the very same, heatless flames licking along the statue’s body. Occasionally a finger of flame would linger on the silver antlers, twisting markedly like a snake; and a flash of fire would break away, flapping suspiciously like a zephyr.
The Wildfire’s flame would continue to burn.
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[O] [memorial crafting] you put a sour little flavor in my mouth now
