Here is a oneshot for this new section, which desperately needs more fics! Argh! Fourth fic for the section! There are other projects I should be working on, but I decided to take a small break and write about Kestrel instead.

My horrendously short fic is set during Slaves of the Mastery, when Aramanth is destroyed. It's not exactly imaginative, since I've only re-written the event from Kestrel's perspective.

SONG OF SORROW

~ kittykittyhunter ~

My heart pounded as I realised that Aramanth was ablaze, my senses adjusting to the scorched atmosphere. I could smell the terrible smoke, hear the horrified screams, and see the fire as it destroyed all that I had ever known.

I followed my Father and Bowman to the centre of the city and looked on in horror as my eyes fell upon the once proud wind singer. Flames licked at the wood, burning it from brown to black, transforming it from a source of joy to a pitiful structure that was rapidly being engulfed by a sudden and malevolent inferno.

I cried out, unable to control my torrent of emotions. I was scared, horrified, angered and saddened, and all within the space of a few seconds. I sought refuge within Bowman's mind, but he was far too traumatised to offer me any sort of shelter from the blazing truth that stood before me.

Instead, I tried to push my fears aside, and I forced myself to listen to Father's instructions instead, and in that moment I admired his strength and courage for managing to continue in a manner that could save us, and I hated myself for being so selfish that I could only think of my own grief and disbelief at the loss of the wind singer.

Father took command and within minutes had fetched a fire hose, whilst I in my terror had only been able to stare at the burning structure. He trained the nozzle of the hose, and Bowman and I pumped the handle at both ends.

I couldn't control my tears as I pumped, and I continued to scream "No!", still unable to accept the reality of what was going on. Aramanth was burning before my eyes, because some fiendish, dark-hearted monster… I could not conclude my accusations, nor find enough words to describe the characteristics of the one who was responsible for this heinous crime, and I was too terrified to act in any way other than turning the handle for the hose.

Finally the flames went out, and I blinked back my tears and began to swing my way up onto the wind singer. I had ignored Father's command to 'keep pumping', too preoccupied with the destruction of the wind singer. The wood charred my skin, scarring it, but I took no notice of the pain. Father called out again, this time instructing me to be careful, but this time he was cut short as a huge flood of people rushed into the centre of Aramanth.

I remained unnoticed, my black clothing blending too well against the burnt wind singer. I watched as they chased the people of Aramanth, first on horses. Then the chasseurs were followed by footmen, who stabbed those who had lost the strength to run and had fallen to the ground. I felt a wave of anger surge through my veins, and for a moment, my heart told me to jump down to the streets and annihilate all those who had dared to invade our city. But then, my mind protested, convincing me with reason that there was no way that I'd be able to stand up to the army of destroyers, and that I was safer and somehow more useful in the wind singer.

Bowman and Father were pushed back by the invaders, and somehow I was able to endure the screams and cries of the hundreds who were attacked and savagely assaulted. The footmen had no mercy, and no compulsion about striking those who were weak. Not once did they hold back that day.

Not once did they give a second thought about how inhuman it was to exploit and terrorise the vulnerable in their vast numbers.

My spirit shrieked for Bowman, whom I knew was suffering their pain a thousand times worse than my lack of empathy for it; for I had always been the one who did, and he, my half-self, would always remain the one who felt.

A little while afterwards, the leader rode up on a fine mare. His face glinted in the burning light, and I etched his face into my memories. I could tell from the cruelty in his eyes that this was a man without a conscience, the man responsible for the wide-scale devastation that lay before me.

I made a vow to myself then, a vow that I swore I would not break, a vow that would avenge the spirits of those who had suffered at the hands of this manic individual.

I won't forget you, my enemy.

The last line is a direct quote.