Written at the same time than the Guts-drabble. It was surprisingly easy to be emotionless in this.


He looks up, he smiles like he always does and will do.
See how wind blows through his hair.

That smile never leaves his angelic face, the same smile, slight curve of his lips, that has made thounsads of men fall under this man's traps.

He has had so many followers and enemies, but only one of them ever got close.

Only one.

The only one that slightly managed to raise the curtain of mystery covering this smiling man, the only who has ever understood the tiniest hints of what this man felt, whenever he cocked his head to the side, flinched or raised an elegant eyebrow.

But that other one was gone now, out of sight.

And this angelic being smiling to himself at the hill didn't even flinch at the thought.

It's not like he even missed the other one, he didn't miss others, they missed him.

"Chief!" Someone yelled and the White Hawk turned his deceitfully beautiful face to see one of his young warriors,

one of those who would die in the upcoming war.
Because they all were following him to their deaths, as they always had.

He didn't care.

As long as he - and, he admitted finally, smiling a little more, the other one - were alive, the black swordman's intense hatred tainting the White Hawk's wings.
So long would the great bird fly towards the dream shining from afar.

And nothing, absotely nothing, would stop him from reaching it.

He had sacrificed everything, his companions - the doll-life face stayed calm -, his life and most of all, his feelings.

The White Hawk wasn't a human anymore, more like a doll, a deceitfully beautiful doll.