He sees. A thread of fate. A web of flames. A song of blood. A cry of war.
Then he runs. Talons strike cold stone. She doesn't belong here.
Then he tastes. The bitterness of stagnation. The smoke of sacrifice.
Then he hears. Unadulterated silence. Absence of pulse.
Then he touches. Arms embrace her. His forehead nuzzles. His trembling hands in hers.
She's gone.
An ending of an era. A snuffing of embers. A lullaby of eternal sleep. A dying whisper.
He burrows his face in her crimson locks— the only aspect of her that isn't charred.
And he mourns.