The battles weren’t done yet.

Shock rolled over him in waves. One moment he could walk forward, the next, he was frozen, left staring, helpless. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to reunite and live out the rest of their lives together. They were supposed to get angry at each other, argue and torment each other – then they would get over it, move on and torment the rest of the world. Whatever happened to their plans? They were going to be leaders, these brothers of a feather. They were going to rule the world, the world their sire and dam had designed for them. They were going to raise their families together, they were going to live life, together, always.

The eyes that could orchestrate any colour were black today. Black, like the death that laid before him. He stood before his brother now, wanting to do something, but knowing there was nothing he could do. He bowed before the Samurai, dipping his crown low between his knees, lifting and bending his left foreleg to dip lower still. Lifting his cranium, he adjusted himself so as to lay down, to view his brother on equal terms in his dying breaths. It should be me. He has too much life left to live. Why couldn’t that lion have chosen me as an opponent? Even as he dared to think the words, he knew there was little use in thinking on them too deeply – what was done was done.

Azzuen had spent too much of his life running. Running from what he did not understand. How blind he had been – he had missed the life of his brother. He looked at the fine electric stained brute, not seeing the injuries that marred his form, but seeing the stallion for what he was – brilliant, strong, wise, respected. Voltaic had stayed where Azzuen could not, he had raised his family, made a name for himself. The monochromatic steed admired his brother, even in death, he had died honourably, in battle, defending what he believed in. Perhaps in time, Azzuen would be fortunate enough to have the same thought about him. If I can live my life even just half as well as he lived his, maybe my existence would be worth something after all.

Muzzle pressed against the bloodstained hide of Voltaic, the stallion breathed in his scent, longing to bring back what he could not, longing to relive his life by his brother’s side, wishing for some things to be undone. He tried not to get hung up on the ‘what ifs’ of the situation, but it was hard for him, grief riddled that he was. Delicately he reached for their father’s spear, which hid amongst his feathers, and placed it point down in the earth between them. He didn’t really know why he did so, but it simply was something he had to do. He could of taken away his brother’s pain as he breathed his final breaths, and yet he felt that it would be inappropriate to do so, but if the yellow streaked brute wished it of him he would do it without hesitation of course.

A shrill whinny jarred the stallion from his stupor as he lay beside his brother, and Azzuen was flooded with emotion, he was mentally slapped in the face. A small bundle of fur came galloping towards him, her hide dark on the edges, her wings overly large for her petite frame, her hide reflecting the rising morning above them. Cirrus.. he thought, thinking of the life she represented as his brother’s life faded. He thought of her beautiful mother, and he remembered what kept him anchored to this earth, he remembered the reason why breath still filled his lungs. It would take him time to process his grief, of course, but as the sunny little filly came and laid down beside her father, he knew that he would be able to process those dark feelings. He would pull through. Life would go on.

“He was great, you know.” Azzuen spoke to the filly, trying to smile, but probably looking like he was grimacing instead. The small child put her muzzle to his cheek, licking at the tears which rolled down them. “He will be remembered, always.” Seeming to be speaking mostly to himself now, he sighed shakily. Velvet lips ran over the filly’s shoulders lovingly, and she shifted her weight, allowing the stallion room to rise. He did so, and with his nape arched he gathered his thoughts, and spoke to the brother of his heart in loud, clear tones.

“Voltaic, brother of mine, I am sorry for the wrongs I did against you. My only wish is to right these wrongs by living life as you did; to inspire life in others, to cherish and fight for my beliefs. Brother, there never was a day in my life that you did not cross my mind, nor will there ever be. May you live on in the hearts of all who knew you, may you rest easy.”

It was hard for him to speak after that. He simply looked into the other stallion’s eyes as the spark faded slowly away from them. Cirrus crept forward, bravely nudging the fallen steed upon his brow, blowing soft kisses, not minding the blood that darkened her dark little muzzle. Soon after, she moved to stand beneath her father’s barrel, and watch quietly, with wide eyes, as others gathered for the death of the Samurai.