Thousands stand in silent mourning as the sarcophagus is carried along the royal avenue in the colossal claws or Rhenar, the White Dragon. The black-clad crowds watch with reverence as Rhenar bears the sealed block of marble up the incline towards the Silver Roost, where the sisters will inter Galan, the last knight.
Galan was the last of his kind. Rhenar knows she will bear no other into battle, not at her venerable age. She knows that for these humans, the death of one of these rare warriors is cause for great dispair, both for the loss of one so brave and skilled but also for their fears about their future in this wild and tumultuous world.
Rhenar glances down at the etched platinum relief on the sarcophagus, which pictures the many feats Galan performed in life. Central is the image of Rhenar soaring through the air with Galan on her back.
He would have found this amusing, thinks Rhenar. The marble and platinum. The royal guards and the thousands of mourners. He was born a few streets down from here, in a boarding house. He scrubbed pots for most of his formative years, until his mutations became evident.
Rhenar stands at the pinnacle of the hill, above the city. She feels that she alone among these humans will mourn something more than a powerful warrior and a beacon of hope. She will mourn a good friend.
Rhenar takes in a deep breath and steps into the gardens of the Silver Roost, one last time.
Paddy Dobson
8th July 2022