The battle was all but over, She and her kin had lost. Humans perched on the outposts, shooting those escaping the slaughter, neither sky nor the valley paths proving to be successful or useful to any of her kin. She stood in the center of the valley, in a silence so complete it would seem unearthly but for the gunshots every so often as another kin was taken. Every time the sound echoed across the valley, a solitary quake would rock her, she would clench her eyes closed and a crimson red tear would trace its way down porcelain skin. She opened her eyes and allowed a sob to rock her. She bent over, swiping at the tears, creating a red smudge across her face. One tear drop landed on the ground, creating a cruel thump that was louder and more final than that last gunshot, which had signaled the last kin on earth to be killed.

She straightened, looking around wildly as humans poured into the valley, whooping and cheering. The last one was dead. Dead. Event he word hurt. As the humans crowded in around her she panicked, she knew she was last. Her. She was the General who lead the attack, she rallied every last kin together and she had lost. Now they wanted to get her. It would be a victory. They would take her wings from her human form and use them as a trophy. As she looked to the humans she saw the rage, and the blades that had taken the place of guns. She could not bring herself to meet any eyes. The rush of panic seized her.

"No!" She screamed. She broke from the ropes, grazes quickly forming on her wrists and ankles, the rough rope tearing off layers of skin, quickly dieing itself red. Her wings carried her high above the humans.

She flew for a month, barely stopping. Once or twice for food and alcohol, then she would keep going, before anyone could recognize her. She came to a mountainside and her wings ached, refusing to go any further. She was in so much pain. She walked for a few days, limping heavily on her ankle, which had no healed and broken. Over the night she admired the inky darkness which was pinpointed with tiny pricks of light. The night itself melted into morning, and with the morning came a heavy mist and fog. The trees were distorted into ghostly figure along the dirt road she was following.

The road she followed lead her to a cliff, and as she looked out she remembered the lay of the land. The valley where all her kin had died lay before her and she cursed herself and her traitorous body for bringing her here. She sat and watched the mist, slowly moving in circles around the valley bottom until the suns leaky light came out to burn and chase it away. As she watched the mist rolled away from the sun, heading to find some other dark and quiet place to settle. And in the center of the valley she saw two great and proud wings, her own brightest red. And she realized.

There were no ropes, there was no food, no alcohol, no flying. The last gunshot had taken her life.