As the review explains, my fic talks about the elder padawan's thoughts about his Master… ^_^

Ah, about the title…just remember the colors of a sunset and the colors of a fire. O.o;



~*~*~*

What is it that they mourn?

The loss of a soldier?

A good man?

Or just someone that happened to cross paths with them, merely by chance?



None of them knew him like I did, most would have never achieved so.

I place my agony, my anger to a side, but I find it impossible not to let my feelings speak for my mind and my heart.

He was more than just that, he was my master and my mentor…my friend.

My mind, seemingly obstinated to hit me with the horrid images of his death, insanely whisper the mistakes I never committed. It engages the series of vivid pictures that our ball was. Sets of rubies, sapphires and emeralds…while one may think these are the instruments of beauty, I remember them as instruments of doom, they look twisted, sick, horrid, in my mind.

Clangors of lights that barely remain stable, becoming shrills within the flow of time, his time, my time.

Raven and garnet colours on his malice face, mocking at me, the young apprentice that couldn't save the dearest person for him.

*I should be the one that lies there, not him…*

My eyelids veil my drenched eyes, demanding me to hold together, assuring me that there is nothing to mourn, bewail for, that the good man that placed me where I stand will always be with me.

I now it is not like that.

I force into my consciousness the thought that this is not our last goodbye. Ever since I was a child I spurned farewells, especially the ones that involved those who I cared for.

There is something I must do, pleased I will do so. I will leave to a side what the Master said, for I am not afraid what will this boy be. A promise is, and will be, stronger than the arguments I had been stroke with.

I stand before his blurry image, a crimson storm stands before my eyes, flames that cynically dance on him a ritual they are pleased with, enabling me to see with lucidity what his body is now. Or is it the indigo storm that moves in my eyes?

He left, leaving me a young boy behind with me.My eyes move down to where the boy stands, feeling strangely related to him, proud and honor lighting my eyes as our gazes lock on. I let admiration take over now…this kid, he held determination I had never experienced nor seen or felt, except the firs time I saw my Master.

I perceive a small crystal bead roll down the porcelain, sallow skin of the young apprentice, imaginary I place the feelings that source that troubled bead. He was alone now, his mother, a slave imprisoned by a heartless Hutt, and the man that he considered his hope, as his dream had shown, laid now, engulfed by burgundy and amber.

I am his pillar now, his shoulder and Master. This last thought circulates my inpatient mind, as I stop my own crystal bead from rolling.



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I might be changing and adding stuff…suggestions are more than welcomed!