What Does The Falling Bird See?

Celestia unrolled the scroll. Her eyes were tired. The moon cruised the heavens above, still high in the sky. The winds swept by softly and lazily. They caressed her mane, her coat. They ran past the scroll and made its corners dance as dry leaves flew across the ground. It was a cool autumn night. The whispering of the wind wept sorrow.

The guard spoke but Celestia did not listen.

The wind blew, and she knew.

The scroll said little, but too much. Such weight should not be placed on so little words. They fail to hold the pain. They lack the strength to endure the mourning felt. They simply fall short.

Celestia dismissed his guard and stared at the stars. She wondered if he was there. She wondered if his own would remember him as he wanted to be remembered, or if they'd remember him at all. She thought of the orphaned foal. She spilled a tear.

If the world was ever unfair, then it was then. If a hero ever deserved a medal, it was him. If a sacrifice had ever been noble, it was this one.

So very little words. Such a small scroll. The message was lost in it. The feeling of it all. The tragedy. It wasn't there. Celestia put it away and gazed at the heavens. What could a man be doing so far from home? What could his thoughts be that led him to give his life for someone he didn't know? For one that wasn't his own?

What does the falling bird see, if not the ground?

"He fell, but saw the heavens." She said as the moon cruised the sky, and a white dove flew by.