Pale, drained features smiled weakly for a moment at her mentor, lending the last ounce of strength in a wavering heal over her torn thigh, before hushing her leader's sobs with her last, sweet sigh. Her teeth clenched, fighting back all the sorrow and rage in the world and locking it, burning, behind her eyes. She would not cry for this one, this precious flower of life. No, she deserved more than tears. She deserved honor.
To this day, a tree bearing the girls favorite flower, the Dusk Blossom, grows on that otherwise barren, wind-swept field of death.
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- Botany 6