Never in a million years had Aryel expected to see one of the Generals die. Never in a million years had she expected to hear his daughter's keening cry of grief.

She still couldn't believe it.

It was the hellhound's howl that drawn her, the mournful note stirring worry into the pegasus. Even she could hear the emotion in the hound's cry. Concerned, she had taken to the air, and followed the origin of the howl, spying the young hellhound with her nose to the sky, singing a song of lament. Surrounding the pup were several other Throat horses. She landed some distance away, walking up to the group. "What's--" she stopped, expression becoming blank as she realized what was under the overhang. Her face gradually became more horrified as she realized what Cirrus was splayed over, crying.

Azzuen. Oh gods.

She took a few halting steps forward, head shaking in disbelief. The Ardent dead. How? She almost asked Cirrus if she had tried to heal him, but the look on her face was enough for her. Azzuen wasn't coming back. For a moment, she couldn't even speak. She had not know him personally, but she had respected and admired the dark stallion. She looked at Cirrus again, trying to force her tightened throat to say something, anything, to console the filly.

"I...I'm so sorry."

She dropped her head, unable to say anything else. She needed time to accept this, that their great general was gone forever. It wasn't fair. She was aware that everything died eventually, but why did he have to die now? He had a mate. He had two children. Tio was still at large, possibly gathering an army to sweep them away at this very moment. How could he leave us now?! Anger was only one of the beginning stages of grief, but somehow, she felt hers would last for a while.


Walk walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk talk."

The day greeted my eyes with a beauty that often preceded tragic circumstances. It is those days that are so breathtaking, the ones which stop your heart and make you stare outward at the earth motionlessly, that are the ones which bring the most regret, the most heartache. I could not forsee the loss of my beloved General, but perhaps in my heart grew the inkling that today would be one I would mourn.

My daughter had reconciled her anger, perhaps out of some miracle, but on this day she stood with me on the rise of the sun. Her back had surpassed mine in height long ago, and the soft lines of her pale face had always been gentler at rest than my best effort to be soft. Her sky eyes mimic the pale hues of blue that follow after the rising sun and mine the night which is being chased away. We are calm, quiet, and serene. My daughter has never felt much need to speak when in my presence, but that is comfortable. There is a bond that exists between your family that requires no words to provide you with the best company. As long as you are safe and warm by the side of your beloved, what more can you ask for? If my world were to come to an end today, I think very much that I would be pleased knowing that it started at the side of the girl I had grown to take the most pride in raising. The Desert children were my family, but Onni was my sun.

When the sun had risen almost toward the crown of the sky, a song reached two sets of chocolate ears.

I look over at the shaman beside me, her pale face looking at me with worried lines. I did not know the strange call that emanated through the land, but Onni's mouth opened immediately. "Sitka," she says, with little other warning before gallantly running forward in the desert, her brown wings opening and throwing her into the air. I follow swiftly, my wings gracing the skies with ease as the wind finds its way behind us. Our pace is swift, yet it seems we were farther than many. My dark eyes look at the gathering curiously, finding a depth of abyss as they land upon the face of Azzuen. The face of my General. The face of my Brother.

I careen downward, falling like some flightless bird from the sky in an ugly manner as my wings tip madly, tugging up only just before I become a mess of blood and bones on the red dirt, my hooves landing with a resounding clack on the desert floor. Red dust explodes from around me as the wind hits the ground next, expelling a cloud of crimson around me which clears to reveal a face torn with anguish and shock. I need not be a healer to know what would bring such a mournful face to a lover. I need not be a healer to know why the dog was singing now, why light seemed to cling to the skin of Cirrus. Unlike the direct family of the great General, I remain motionless, like stone that had been carved from the very desert, I stand completely still. For perhaps the first time in years, the air around me dies down into a slack. The wind does not move. The Resolute cannot move.

An ear flicks backward as I hear another set of hooves land upon the earth. Onni. She comes to stand beside me once more, a large chocolate wing draping over my shoulders in solace, her head bent low. The shaman does not speak, for maybe she knows words mean little to the dead and to their company, but her sky eyes look toward the peaceful face of the General, a sad smile on her lips. I follow suit, my own smile growing as I find the words which had been held back in my chest. If I do not say my goodbyes, Azzuen would still not remain here. If I do not say them, I will regret it. I step from the embrace of my daughter, moving a few steps closer and dropping my head down toward the floor, bowing toward our bereaved Oracle and her daughter.

More importantly, I bow to the stallion who has served this herd valiantly. His life laid out for the cause of the Tuuli, for my wishes, for our safety. I bow to the great creature who has met his end here in the desert. A single tear falls down my face as I close my dark eyes, replaced instead with a hopeful expression that I intend to give to all gathered here. "Rest easy, brother," I say to Azzuen, his dead ears which would not hear my well wishes for him. "You have earned your peace." I raise my head, looking out toward the crowd gathered, my face calm. There would be much mourning for the loss of our first General. His strength would be sorely missed, but the power he had given the soldiers which stand in this home will not be taken with him.

Azzuen could not so easily be taken from our hearts.
""

The sky is a merciless blue, stained a shade Sumati's eyes had yet to see. With such deep, rolling clouds one would think the day to be like any other hot desert day, but a day like this holds a certain sulk, a purse of puffy white lips, perhaps. Some disdain is clouded with the misery of blue - sadness buzzes in her ears.

Sumati paints herself in this sky as the low, magical howl sings an awful song of mourn. Distress, what have you. Some balance is set tumbling down red mountains. The mare is a fleet of thundering wing flaps, she heads away from the dawn-lighted oasis with red grains falling away from her body in foul smoke. She is a mess, but she isn't the only one. The voice carries itself high in the wind, miles over the gale that weeps with signature sound. The air is stale and arid, much like the soul of someone nonexistent. This moment in the sunrise doesn't feel like it survives the wild unknown of her thoughts. Her own soul has exited her body now, and is long gone in the trail of scattered red dust.

'Who?' her mind questions, the sound an anxious rattle in her eardrums. It only beckons more, and more to the chasm of mile-deep sandstone. It is a hazardous gorge for the inattentive.

The body at the bottom was not an inattentive one.

Sumati's eyes stop - hazel frozen blue as the merciless sky above winks with pursed lips. An evil snare rattles from the Hellhound as her own darkened gaze falls upon the broken body of her General.

Ázzuen is dead.

Her hooves finally smack against the stone, chipped and cracked by the dryness of desert. Sand rolls in the grit of her teeth, as they bite away tears. The Sinbird's tears build like whelps in her eyes as the sight of Cirrus' little broken heart pulls emotion from deep in her own chest. The shame of loss is not just for the herd, but for everyone who ever met the genuine soldier who willingly risked his life for the good of his herd. These were the kind of souls worth mourning, these were the kind of souls who shouldn't be dead. A heartbeat ricochets, and somewhere in all of the blindness she sees Cassiopeia, the fire sizzled out under the river of tears. Her eyes capture glimmering constellations, red, bleeding the passion of the cavern's walls. Sumati ruffles her wings before she folds them to her sides, and presses her wet eyes into the white down of her wing joint.

The tobiano Sultana does not find the other members, but hears their prayers lost out into the dark shadow of red sand motes. She hears Kri's voice like gravel, she speaks more for herself than anyone else. She knows that ears of the dead are the most active, and speaks her own prayer without noisy words.

'We'll miss you Ázzuen. You're honored in all hearts.'

As Azzuen's body began to catch fire, Aryel took a startled step backwards. At first, she thought somebody in the mournful gathering was cremating him, but one look at the light streaming down from the clouds made her realize something else was happening. She watched, silent, as a large zephyr bird flew down to hover above his body, a teardrop from that same bird igniting the dead stallion's body into a beautiful inferno of orange and blue. Awe managed to creep it's way across her expression as she marveled at the sight, at colors richer and deeper than she had ever imagined.

She snorted in alarm as the shockwave pushed her back a few inches, but stayed where she was, watching as the bird approached Cirrus, weaving a feather into her mane and onto the spear that sat embedded in the ground nearby. Just when she thought the display was over, the wind whipped up again, surrounding her in an aura of power that lifted the filly off the ground, then moving to dance between everyone else, leaving her with an odd hum in her veins. Azzuen's final goodbye. As the wind died down, she bit back a sob and lifted her wing joint to her forehead, primaries slightly extended over her head in a pegasus salute. The anger at being left with danger looming on the horizon still remained, but now there was a sense of closure. The herd would live on, even though their General did not.

Respects paid to Azzuen, she lifted her head to scrutinize the clouds. Since coming here, she had been somewhat skeptical as to the Gods' caring about the mortals, but today had planted a seed of respect in her. She gave a small nod to the air.

Maybe they did care.

Walk walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk talk."