He grew closer, and my eye was drawn to his little companion. Flames simmered along the tiger cat's spine, licking hungrily at the cool air surrounding us. The pair's advance was perhaps a bit too bold; as they came to be too close for comfort, I took a step back, paranoia flaring in my mind. I had a bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, but I pushed it away, keeping my face pleasant if a little confused. Onward they came, and I found myself taking another step back, and then another. In the end, it was not enough, and my panic set in too little, too late. I have to strain to hear the steed's haughty whisper, but when I make sense of it, my eyes widen in shock and fear. I squeal, trying to back away and turn at the same time, and I stumble. That was my last mistake. I scream as the tiger bobs around me, burning my skin and leaving me in a blind panic.
I'm sorry, I think, for in the midst of my distress there was a moment of calm, a moment of respite, in which I was horribly sad for what my loved ones were about to go through. And then the flare of his wings brought me back to myself, and he became a powerful, flaming deity of death, and he lunged for me before I could even think of a response. I saw Death himself standing, waiting on a grassy knoll beyond my killer. That's not right, I realized. There is no green in winter. And I cried out to him, a wordless plea for mercy, a hopeless desire for more time.
But then his horn came down and in and through, and my time was no more.
And a solitary bird sang my requiem.
"talk"
If love is surrender, then whose war is it anyway?
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