He found her body.
It was wrapped up in scarlet shades of light, streaming out into the field as a cracked egg does when shattered against the ground. The body was whole yet broken, legs twisted outwards at awkward angles, horn scorched and bent, wings fully splayed out and mangled with missing feathers.
Artillery shells blasted overhead, gutting the air with explosion after explosion. The sky ripped and tore from every noise, spraying out pink mists that fogged up the brown, crackly field.
The soldier moved to touch the unmoving body, but hesitated. He was alone, without his battalion. He would probably not survive beyond a few minutes; his comrades had already warned him that venturing out into the center of the fray was a death wish.
The body was big enough to make decent cover for a while.
The soldier slipped beneath a wing, welcoming the shade the misshapen plumage gave from the throbbing red sun. He closed his eyes, hearing the bombs crack around him, and willed himself to relax. He felt muscles loosen, muscles that had been tensed for ages. They had been tensed for longer than he could remember.
A low-flying projectile gouged the ground a close distance from where the soldier lay, but he paid it no mind. The soldier removed his helmet, tossing it out of his covering. It glinted dimly before tumbling a few feet away, where it came to rest.
The soldier shook his head, chasing off any thoughts of sleep. He mopped his brow, relishing the feeling of a mane free of the oppressive heat the metal on his head had forced him to endure.
The ground rumbled briefly, then fell still.
The soldier popped open a bottle of water, guzzling it greedily down as he quenched his parched throat.
Licking his lips, the soldier threw the half-full bottle in his helmet's direction, scoring a hit on the steel frame. He wouldn't need water where he was going.
A burst rent a nearby tree in two.
The soldier stepped out from his cover, taking a closer look at the body he was hiding under. The royal plating covering its torso and hooves shone brilliantly despite the sun being so dull. The pony's long, richly colored mane obscured its face.
The soldier flicked the mane aside.
The face of a goddess stared back up at him, her eyes doubtful and angry and resigned and fearful all at once. He knew she was important, but couldn't remember why.
He shrouded her glare with her hair again, letting its folds rest tightly against her neck. He stepped a few feet away to view it from afar, ignoring the sharp cracks that rocked the air around him.
She looked the part of a fallen angel, dropped from the skies only to burst open upon touching the ground. She seemed to be larger than life, yet she looked so small against the rusty-colored grass. The soldier admired her beauty, imagining her standing tall as a last bastion to hope and peace.
Peace that had not been forthcoming, and hope that had become stale with its everlasting presence.
Shadows darted across the body. The soldier whipped around, glimpsing a figure blocking out the sun. He cupped his eyes, squinting into the light.
A pony stood on a hill, regal and proud, smiling down at the one before her. Her wings unfurled and snapped full beside her.
The soldier was untrained in etiquette towards royalty, but quickly assumed a bowed position.
He kept his head down for several minutes, silence riddled with occasional explosions. A howl echoed through the field, but his attention did not falter. He finally moved his head up to glance at the pony above him.
The proud pony now possessed deep wounds and lacerations that snaked over her body in delicate crisscrossing patterns, running red down to the hoofguards on the ends of her slim legs. She balanced on her four hooves briefly before her front legs buckled and she tumbled down, smashing into the ground again and again as she rolled to a stop at the soldier's feet.
The soldier froze. The pony lying before him didn't stir.
Stillness smothered the two.
The soldier looked away, biting his lip as he glanced at the other dead pony. He blinked, trying to keep away the fuzz that began invading his vision.
The soldier staggered over to the first dead pony, caressing its sleek, perfect form. His own legs gave out, and he fell on his side, letting out a groan of dim pain as he hit the ground.
He prayed for rain, but the sky remained cloudless.
He bit at the grass tickling his nose, whining and snarling as he writhed within the dry patch that was the field. He clamped his jaw down hard, tasting copper along with inedible grass. He thrashed about, spitting the dark reeds everywhere, before stopping all at once and lying still.
He heard a muted grunt from one of the ponies; he couldn't tell which.
A hoof touched his shoulder, and helped him stand.
The soldier looked into the face of the goddess before him, and felt droplets dribble down his eyes. The pony daintily removed one of her hoofguards, and wiped away the soldier's tears.
The soldier turned his head to the pony still laying there, noting how similar the two looked.
"Come," the pony whispered. "This sight is unbecoming of a battlefield."
With a heave of his chest, the soldier climbed under the pony's body, lifting it onto his back. He began dragging the body away from danger, leaving a trail of red amongst the burning brown.
A cannon shot propelled shrapnel through the soldier's skull, shards piercing through to the other side.
He spasmed once before falling limp beneath the pony he was carrying.
Screams scratched at the sky as booms ricocheted through the brown field, the never-ending copper interrupted once by a bright streak of red.
