What others saw was a polyester inflation that somewhat resembled a horse.

In-fact, what others truly saw was a man far out of his mind and beyond the age-limit to be carrying said inflated horse.

But what everybody else saw mattered little to Pyro. That horse was his pal, his best friend. And today, his best friend died in his very arms.

Upon receiving the news, he excused himself from his fellow cohorts. He didn't want to be seen at a time like this. So he wandered away, far away to a place he knew nobody would follow, the torn companion of his sagging pathetically against his cradled arms.

They had been through so much, created many a rainbow. How was he to properly honour the memory of such a loved one?

With shaking hands, he settled the deflated balloon before him on the dirt, seating himself across from it. With all his might, he tried his darndest to make the balloonicorn stand the way it used to, tried to reassemble its melted form into the friend that was familiar.

But to no avail. The gash at its side was too deep; too dire. Everytime the situation looked hopeful was merely another wound to his broken heart when it failed before his eyes.

Why couldn't Medic just do what he did with his gun and make it all just go away? It had worked every other time before.

Maybe... just maybe, it didn't have to be so bad. So what if his buddy couldn't fly anymore? Should it really make a difference?

So Pyro tried. He tried to make conversation with it like he used to, like he would any other day it was well. He inquired about her day, told about his and offered up a cup of pretend-tea.

For a while, his technique proved promising. But his fleeting hope would give way to crushing devastation each time he saw the miserable state she was in. She wasn't happy, she wasn't laughing with him.

This was no way to dignify the dead, Pyro finally thought; he finally accepted. And that's when the grief hit him the hardest.

He spent more than a few hours there that evening, silently reliving their happiest moments together in his head before giving his beloved friend a proper burial.

When he finally left, it wasn't without making sure his friend's final resting place was adequately beautiful. Just like her. It took him a while to pick out the flowers he deemed the best, but it was all worth it just to scatter them atop her grave.

He'll never forget her, he told himself repeatedly as he walked the lonely walk back home.