[mistral4543]

There was something about retreating in the midst of battle that was dreadfully undignified. Several of them had turned in disgust, especially when they heard the devious humans approach them with drawn weapons. It was Torch's growl - low but audible - that kept them in their place, however. Just as the chieftain of the other side signalled his men to step aside.

There was something about making their way so slowly out of the arena that was maddening. True, they had been in war and those surviving were bruised, yet that was no reason to leave so pathetically, devoid of pride and honour. Again, it was Torch's snarl that it was not in their place to decide.

Torch's gnarl was as welcome as herbs, for their meals. Never had he had to command them and the fact that he was doing so depressed not only themselves, but Torch himself. Gatha had left him as chief-in-command whenever she was away and decisions had to be made; but this had been a totally unnecessary measure, until today.

Today, Torch unwillingly led his friends back into their home. There was no need to sing heroic songs of their fallen comrades, unlike the humans; actions spoke louder than words. "Look to the future." Gatha had often told them, and the best tribute they could pay her was to heed her words.

Gatha. As each beast pronounced her name in his or her heart, differing recollections arose. Some had heard of Gatha's sprints with their great great grandfathers, in her younger days; others had borne her on several romps around the inner parts of the forest. Still others had sulked when she offered them berries instead of fresh meat, ignoring her cajolling caresses. One or two had tried to trip her just a few weeks ago, and smirked when she gingerly got up and rubbed her thigh and back. The younger ones' faces crumped as they remembered snubbing her when she tried to tell them tales of the forest.

No one dared to cry, because Gatha would not have liked it. She, who had had every reason to cry, had only done so once. By word of mouth, all had heard from their ancestors, relatives and friends that this iron-willed champion had cried only upon the night she was forsaken to die in the forest. "There is no point crying." she had said afterwards, and not only a few times. "No one would care, and it only gets me drained from being weepy." Again, the biggest compliment they could pay her now was to accept her death without whimpering like weaklings.

Yes, they knew she was dead. They had known since they heard Torch's first gnarl. And he had learnt the news when a flock of woeful mynahs swept down to his ears and relayed the tragedy. Torch, who had just ripped off a human's arm, had suffered a gash in his stunned response, before he hurriedly gripped the human's longsword with his teeth, flung man and weapon a few metres away and made his announcement.

On they padded the ground, each lost in a world of his or her own. So many things they saw or heard reminded them of Gatha, and their burdens just never got lighter. What would life be without her? How could she have gone without saying goodbye?

Entering the forest now, they felt the protective arms of the trees shading them from the distractions of an outer world they cared nothing for. Occasionally, a branch would sweep down and stroke their backs, only to jerk back when they angrily refused the act of consolation. They would be fine; just leave them alone, thank you very much. And the trees lapsed into a shield of empathy.

Suddenly, one of them espied a couple of humans in the distance at the edge of the forest. Before she could leap off, however, Torch had sprung into her path and snapped. There would be no more bloodshed for now, the glint in his eye ordered. She lowered her head in disappointment and kept in line.

At long last, they had reached the site of the disaster, and all fell upon their limbs, their heads bowed in respectful silence.

The wake of Gatha had begun, but no eulogy was required.