The rain whipped against the grass, driving it down against the slope of the hill. He reached up, grabbing the edge of his hood, pulling it lower over his face, attempting to keep his fluff dry. The rain pattered against his cracked beak as he trudged up the hill, encased in a dark grey cloak, his heavy metal boots leaving deep imprints in the muddy path. Reaching the crest of the hill, he stopped before a gravestone, and a grave. He looked down, eyes traveling across the inscription, before a memory flashed across his mind. Him a few years younger, tears soaking his soot stained fluff, as he shakily scratched the inscription into the tomb stone, on his knees on the recently filled in grave. Hearing a low hiss behind him, he whipped his head around, eyes scanning the empty hill side. He slowly turns back around, only to see Sharp sitting on the tombstone, silent. He stands there, staring, the pang in his heart returning. With a blink, she's gone. Letting out a tired sigh, he crouches down infront of the grave, lowering his head. "I miss you, Glethin. I really do.. You, blade, sharp, all of you..." Trailing off, he goes silent, remembering all the times they were forced to sleep together to survive the cold of the night. All the times he came back to their shelter bruised and bloody, yet triumphant, scraps of food in hand. All the times he went hungry so she could eat. He closed his eyes, letting out a tired and worn sigh. Six feet below him her remains rested, at least what he was able to get. More memories threatened to surface, clawing at his mind, but he beat them back as he stood up, opening his eyes. The rain still pouring down. He finally brings himself to read the inscription on the gravestone, the void in his heart hurting as he does so. With that he turned, walking back down the hill. The void in his heart wider, after the most recent death. Insanity clawing at the edges of his mind, lurking in the shadows. The ghost of sharp haunting his waking moments, and sleeping ones. He only had so much of himself left, after all he'd been through. So much of him had died, he had nearly killed himself. He didn't know what stayed his hand then, kept him from ending the pain. But an idea flashed across his mind, accompanied with the ghostly image of Glethin in his mind. Memories. ((May be a little cheesy, but did my best. I know it's not as emotionally charged as Bleeding Heart.))
((About time someone gave some sort of semi- instructive response. Gonna remove the votes. Was bad idea. <.<))
