Arbutus alerts me to the presence of others, and reflexively, defensively, my wings unfurl. I meet first the bright, orange eyes of the tiger. They seem hardened and captivating, but not powerful enough to sway. Maybe once, but not anymore. Then the undead, certainly a sight to see, stands beside him yet barely above him. Strange that I feel no fear of the creature. Pity overtakes my emotions, and the motherly instinct I never before felt fo my children begins to rise.

He is so young.

The thought enters my mind and hangs there, powerful, refusing to leave. Arbutus flies in a large circle about me, keeping them at bay with his flame. He is so loyal, but why? I can hear the hiss of his tears as they hit the ground, but still he keeps protecting me from the outside world- the outside world which has always hurt me. The stranger stands still, as if transfixed, saying nothing, and my mind wanders.

He is so weak.

My assumption is perhaps no more than that, but I see no strength in this child. His wings, little more than bones with flesh and red-black feathers clinging to the framework. Can he fly? No, of course not. How could one fly with such tattered wings?

He must want to fly.

"It's okay, Arbutus. I want to see them," I say firmly. I have made a sudden and reckless decision, as if my imminent death is not the mot foolish choice of all to make. As Arbutus comes to rest on my shoulders, I cringe under the weight of him. Light as it is, I am too weak for such a burden. He follows silent instructions, and with a pained look, pulls the shimmering feather from my mane with his beak. I am not old, but my body is aging fast. The lock of mane that once held it close to me falls with it, perhaps not willing to part from the feather. The fire across my back fades, and with it, the last memories of my father.

Everything fades, swiftly yet surely. I begin to lose all the pain as the reality of what is to come settles upon me. As Arbutus leaves my side to weave the lock of my mane and the feather into the strange colt's mane- to impart my final gift- even the pain that I am sure to cause the young phoenix leaves me. The colt and his companion say nothing, as if they understand what is to come. The colt merely accepts the gift and turns away; in silence, the pair leaves us to be. I turn away and face the fires before and below me.

It is all very sudden and yet very expected. It seems to make sense- to fall into place with the rest of my life as I have lived it. Perhaps Arbutus cannot bear to see me die; I hear him in the near distance, his task complete, his final cry shrill as it sets aflame and joins the air. I can feel the rush of heat as his body collapses to the earth and consumes itself, but I do not look. I do not turn to see the trail of tears ending in ash- the remains of a beautiful bird whose heart will never again beat.

Everything is lost, yet I am at peace. Into the fire, I fall.