Blood could easily be washed away.

Scars faded into likeness of skin tone.

Broken pottery resorted.

A dull knife sharpened.

But this could never be fixed, not in any sense of the word.

"Would you be proud?"

"..proud.."
"..proud.."

Ash laid in layers to form a hill that the words echoed off softly before the deafening sound of nothing filled her ears again. Iyari stood at the precipice, a mound overlooking the fallen islands, staring with a stinging sensation threatening her eyes over the vastly unfamiliar piles of dark, blackened ash that remained. Against her bare feet the soot moved easily as she descended from the mound down into the darkness, feeling heavier with each new step.

Before she embarked she was given instructions to retrospect, to feel and let flow... Whatever that meant. It wasn't that she was unfeeling at all, she just put all of that emotion into other things - as her very sharp knife collection would agree - so it felt like a chore to her in that sense.

Or at least had.

Staring the horrible aftermath in the face humbled her quickly as she slowly traced steps through the unsifted ash, her footprints quickly overtaken by the unnatural wind that moved through the remains. She allowed herself to wander for a short time, her eyes glossing over the other islands as she passed. It was clear what she wanted, what her feet knew before her head really caught up.

Home.

The brightness of her eyes was dulled as she stepped onto once had been the shore of the island of the War Clan. A memory hit her as the distant echoing voices wafted over the breeze. There had been a lush jungle filled with creatures, noise at every moment as life continued to burst. The canopy not only filled with the bright leaves, but the sturdy buildings jutting from their sides as if one with it. Focusing slowly the memory faded back to reality. There was no canopy, there was barely anything still in an upright position and those were broken and charred, old pieces of trees, jagged as they reached upward towards the sky.

Determined to overcome whatever thing she was meant to, she moved slowly down where the main path into the inner area might have been. Shapelessness, that's what she would feel an appropriate description of the nearby area. Among the jagged edges and darkened spots, Iyari found a blackened stump from the main tree of their village and stared at it, unmoving.

The area on the ground was often a meeting place, or somewhere to practice. Her eyes hit the ground and she could almost see an image of herself scrapping with her brother. Shaking her head she looked around again, her eyes searching for the familiar.

A hearty chuckle made her jump and she turned, but there was nothing there, save for a dark stop where a large tree had once stood. Her home tree. She felt her eyes focus at the spot and look up in the air, imagining the gnarled branches and the names carved in the nameplate. How her room had been on a higher branch than her younger brother... it made him crazy. But that hearty laugh... Her father had the large, white wings and light hair that her brother had gotten. While her mother had the dark wings and short red hair. Their faces were slowly coming to focus and it felt like a stab in the heart.

Slowly, the voices came back.

"No dull knives in the house~!"
"You didn't share in the kill, means you don't get any..."
"GIVE ME BACK MY PELT!"


They were warbled, at the far corners of her mind. Behind her a chorus of other voices joined and she staggered back, hearing them. The songs passed down, pieces of stories, laughing, crying, raging...

"Quiet...." Her lips barely parted.

More noises filled her ears, moving into a shrill noise, thousands together. Her body let out a sickening lurch and though she was still, she was forced to move, tripping over herself back to the stump of the main tree of the area. It was as if she was following the events, the shrilling got louder.

"QUIET!" She screamed, her body falling to the ground, on her knees in a cold sweat, and slowly the shrieking stopped. For a moment she was quiet, staring ahead.

Then there was a soft murmur.

A small squeal.

In a flash the War mare was holding herself as a guttural cry escaped her lips, followed by a loud sob that echoed in the empty space. Years of inner torture, blaming, throwing herself at her work slowly being washed away as the tears fell. Her body heaved and her eyes clenched tightly, the tears rolling off her cheek causing some of her war paint to run, the red color dripping down, crimson against the dark ash.

"I'm not proud!" She cried to the nothingness as the frigid wind whipped around her body. "I haven't been proud since the day I failed... all of you..." Her head shook again and she raised her head, bleary-eyed towards the sky, clutching the ash in her hands under her. All of that fierce persona she so desperately hung onto, all of the revenge and need to kill the enemies - that didn't exist here now. Sorrow and grief bore down into the depths of her soul and she heaved again, croaking as she gasped for air among the broken sobs.

From behind she felt a strange sensation, as if someone or something had their arms around her and she leaned down, feeling more and more as a warmth moved over her.

"I'm sorry." She croaked out softly. "I couldn't do more than survive. And have done nothing since then. I am not proud..."

Silence filled the air. She felt the pressure of the nearby insanity wash over her and move beyond, her tears slowly stopped.

.......
.....
...
..
.
but you are alive


The words were quiet, haunting... but a warmth filled her body and she felt herself pulled to her feet. While nobody was near her, she felt something new in her presence and the dark, looming feeling and frigid wind were silenced by the words and she blinked back, her tears stopped though her eyes bore the bloodshot aftermath.

Be proud to be alive. You don't need to do more than live. Carry that memory, avenge if you must, but take each day to live.


It clicked slowly, but the voice she was hearing was her own, though a calmer, more gentle version over her normal voice filled with ferocity. It was somber, humble and she slowly nodded, pulling a dagger and slicing her hand, holding it out to the blackened stump.

"I swear it. I will live in your memory, and through your memory, live."

Though the words started slow, they became filled with confidence and her wings opened as she tilted her hand, allowing the blood to drip into the ash below it. "On my blood and on my honor." She brought the hand back to her face and wiped her blood on her cheeks, feeling a heavy weight lifted as she stared back, almost feeling the eyes of the ghosts who yet still haunted the islands looking back to her.

"For all of you, I shall continue to live."