Though it was more than a little hard to be cheerful at such a mournful occasion, Blue couldn't help but at least be slightly impressed by the sheer effort that the deer had gone to. Given their—certainly not disguised—hatred of ponykind, they had not missed out any detail when it came to the stallion's funeral. The walls of the dug out village had been inscribed with a swirling pattern, the chalk exposed below giving it quite the effect. The graveyard, too, had been done up to an impressive standard; every headstone—or, perhaps more fitting for the wooden signs, every marker—had been dusted off and polished, each name now quite bold compared to what it had been before. A little way off, a tangle of vines and plants had been made to serve as a table of sorts, littered with plates of not-quite-unpleasant food and drink. It would have been nothing, though, without the breathtaking, sunrise-coloured lights which now radiated around the village.

"Woah," Coalburst said as she hopped along beside Blue, her face painted in similar, warm hues. Against her black coat and orangey-red mane, she looked like quite the little fireball. Such was only accentuated by the small gown that she now wore; it belonged to the deer community and was naturally a little off-sized. Nevertheless, the bright autumnal leaves—many small ones, in contrast to the hazel leaf dress which was now worn by Blue—were more than gorgeous on her. She laughed and giggled as she hopped along, eyeing up her dress every few seconds with a most gleeful squeal. It was a pleasant change from her survivalist mentality.

Thorax, too, had put in some effort. Though he was much too smale in frame for any of the buck clothing, he had studied them carefully and eventually was able to morph into a version of himself wearing the same style. The tuxedo-esque piece, made from snowy owl feathers, certainly managed to turn a few deer heads—though the extra attention only made Thorax begin to regret his decision slightly whilst he trod beside the two ponies.

When the large sand timer positioned at the edge of the graveyard let its last grain fall, the deer slowly began to come together. Their heads were bowed in respect and their eyes were kept closed once they had found their spot among the crowd, arranged in such a way that the fawns of the herd—even those hardly a year of age—were laying at the front. They looked around themselves inquisitively and flicked their little ears, whispering in hushed voices to eachother as they did so. Occasionally a comment regarding the funeral would come up, but for the most part their discussions consisted only of complimenting—or bragging about their own, much to their parents' chargin—make up and outfit.

In fact, despite the sombre nature of the event, every deer present seemed to be less than respectful to the dead stallion. The only traces of black—a colour acceptable for funerals, Blue had once read in an old book—were for accentuation of the bright arrays of outfits worn.

The does each wore a leafy dress, with some opting for a subtler shade whilst others, such as one young doe near to the front of the gathering, wore more vibrant gowns. Hers, for example, would surely draw anyone near to her side; the pale green leaves alone were pleasant, but the rich violet hue which burst from the center of each was eyecatching to say the least. Similarly, every buck present (of which there were only a few) wore a tuxedo not unlike Thorax's, though theirs were each composed of a different feather. The buck closest to the ponies wore an array of bronze, golden and prussian blue feathers; one male a few metres away displayed his lilac and silver display with a puffed out chest. None, however, could rival that of the king; when he stepped forwards upon an elevated mound each deer, though unable to see, bowed down instinctively. Blue, however, found herself transfixed. The peacock feathers which surrounded his head were gorgeous, as bold as any ever grown, and the electric blue feathers which he wore about his chest, laced with the occasional bright green, really took her breath away.

His displeased scowl, however, was even more heart-stopping; Blue squeaked and fell to the floor quickly, much to Coalburst's amusement.

"You may rise, my subjects."  

It was a little hard to hear that feminine voice once again; Blue had to contain the snort which threatened to tear from her lips. The filly at her side, too, seemed equally amused—but, of course, neither would admit that readily and both were able to keep themselves from laughing. Only Thorax seemed to be unaffected, though he merely stared up at the king with a cheerful smile—which the great buck himself returned before he spoke again.

"Life in our village is pleasant. Safe. For some of us, it may come as something of a shock when we recall the true nature of the world above; Equestria is a dangerous, bloodthirsty place. And it was from that place, a few moons ago—though they do no longer progress as they should—that one of our own noble bucks found a victim of the harsh reality, perhaps an hour's walk from this spot. The creature he found? A stallion. A species not truly worthy of care after all that they have done—but a living, breathing creature nonetheless. And it was as such that we took him in.

"Our efforts were in vain and the stallion died, completely abandoned by his kin. His injuries were severe; his chance of survival had been slim. But know this, my family, my friends; this stallion did not die alone. He died in our village, tended to by our medics, and now, his life shall be honoured by we who are gathered here today.

"Death... It is no uncommon thing. In our village, our elderly die with their family, peacefully. In the land above, where insanity is rife, creatures die slowly, and in pain. But for them to have died, they must have first lived—and it is with that notion in mind that we shall give this unfortunate stallion that which he is deserving of; a final farewell, a helping paw. It is today that we shall send him off on his next great journey, his previous one being now for nought. We shall help him reach Gaia's open fields, and we shall pray that he is thereupon accepted, and forgiven for the sins of his kind.

"I ask you now, my subjects. Let us not harbour negative thoughts or bitterness towards this stallion; let us instead give him our love, and let us do so together as a family."

The king fell quiet for a moment and closed his eyes, breathing slowly; all around him, his subjects let their heads fall and they, too, did not utter a sound. The serenity of the moment swept over everyone gathered, with even the fawns falling silent. At that moment, the door of vines behind the king opened slowly, slowly, and out of it stepped a small group of deer; two bucks balanced a large basket of thistles and vines upon their back, with does at either side supporting it as they moved. Through the gaps a large mass could just about be made out. A stallion. A pony.

A young fawn trotted to the far end of the graveyard and bent down slowly, scraping away with his paws quietly. When he had done so, he then bounced back to his mother. He walked with pride and all the fawns now gawped at him as if he had done something amazing—but Blue did not watch his happy display. Rather, her eyes were pinned on the two bucks who now carried the thistle bed down to the exposed, pre-dug grave; her legs began to tremble when they bent down to allow the does to remove the dead stallion's body. And for a moment, everything went silent and still—and then the does got to their work, pulling forth from the thistles a tan coloured stallion with mane and tail of deep, bold blue and with a golden lock, open, for a cutie mark.

"NO!" Blue's scream echoed around the village, her body trembling. But she could not hide; her wings snapped open and she shot into the musty air, faster than ever before, and crashed down to the ground beside the grave with a tremendous, muffled boom. It was then that she lay her eyes upon the painted body of her oldest friend; the only facility pony who had been genuinely pleasant towards her; the stallion who had risked his life countless times in the last few weeks alone to save her rump. The stallion who now lay without movement, his chest with a large, gnawed-out hole in its side. And as she looked into those eyes, those horrendously glassy eyes, another scream tore from her throat and she threw herself onto his cold body. He did not move, did not tell her—as he should have done—to buck her ideas up, to get on with things, to stop being such a damned waste of space. He did not snap, did not kick a leg, did not yell for her idiocy in trusting the deer community.

He was so peaceful in death.

"No! RipEar!" Blue's cry was agonised, shrill. A few deer rushed forwards to pull her back; she only cried harder, her forehooves entwined around the cold body. Her hooves struck out wildly as she clung on; a young buck yelled when she landed a heavy blow upon his leg and sent him careening to the ground. And all the while, RipEar did not scoff or scorn or scold.

"Little mare—"

"No! Go away! Get away from me!" Blue yelled as she glared at the king, screaming, wailing. She then spun back around and buried her head deep in RipEar's fur and howled; the thick stench of death hung around him and only made her anguish greater so that it flooded her very soul and left her nought but a shell of a mare. Every attempt of the deer at dragging her away were fruitless. She could not hear, could not see, could not think; all she knew was her lonliness and her pain.

"B-Blue?"

Coalburst spoke quietly. Her voice was timid as she began to drag herself forwards. When she reached Blue's side and let her eyes land upon RipEar's, she then collapsed to the floor with a gasp. Her chest heaved; her eyes were ever so wide. Blue could only open a heavy wing so as to drape it across her back, still keening with each glance at her stallion. After a few moments, however, with the deer now gathered warily around, Coalburst unsteadily began to rise back to her hooves. She whimpered audibly but stood as tall as she could; after she wiped her eyes with trembling hooves, she then accepted Thorax's support and activated her own flickering magic, painfully pulling Blue away. She screamed but did not react, now; when Coalburst opened her hooves and wrapped them around her tear-stained neck, Blue simply let her body slump against the filly as she wept into her dark, painted fur. Coalburst, too, blubbered a little. Nevertheless, she murmured slightly under her breath and trailed small circles behind Blue's left ear as she tried to stand properly on her own; when she felt some of the tension leave Blue's body, she then bent down and helped to weakly lift her to her hooves after a reassuring, tear-soaked nuzzle. But Blue did not respond and instead merely stood there, now sniffing as she stared into space and right through the filly.

Somewhere in the distance—or perhaps it was not so far away—the king mumbled something and his deer gathered around him once again. But Blue did not notice this; she merely stumbled forwards unwillingly as Thorax and Coalburst began to push and pull her away from the scene. Her vision was blurred from the tears; her ears rung with every choked breath that she took. But, when the dull mumbling of the king died out, her nose began to kick into gear and she broke free from the pair's grip, something primal controlling her mind. She staggered forwards blindly, not even aware of why she was doing so. Within a few seconds her vision then cleared just enough for her to see a large, carved out bowl of liquid before her. The smell... it was intoxicating, powerful, and ever so familiar. So, so familar.

Without warning—without even her own consideration—she let her head flop down so that her muzzle was partly submerged. With each desperate slurp her throat was burned, seared, but there was something ever so relaxing about the bitter—but not quite unpleasant—taste. She snorted slightly as she continued to guzzle it, the pain so intense as it went down her throat.

Minutes passed, slowly, slowly. And yet, despite the pain, she could not stop herself; Coalburst's and Thorax's shouts went ignored as she licked the wooden bowl dry, then laughing and crying and wavering when she stood up straighter. And then she cried, "You all wook... you wook... fwunny!" before her legs collapsed beneath her and she landed on her muzzle. She twitched and snorted as she screamed and wept and thrashed about on the muddy floor, mumbling something about "pwunny, pwunny, pwetty pwonies."