Iktome Plains dead souls and a really big globe.

Taax?

The feisripa's snarl was a rumble that shook the ground beneath his very feet, and yet it was not loud enough to mute the single, terrifed word that escaped Kiwi's throat and slipped easily into the hurricane he had became, like a hot knife through warm butter. He blinked, realizing only then that everything had become a blur of swirling color. He couldn't really even see. Why couldn't he see?

Oh.

The tears.

They were back.

Taax?

Artaax fell back, away from her. He stumbled to the side and collapsed into the snow with only his forelegs to hold him upright, though they were shaking with such violence, it didn't seem likely it would last. He stared at the ground beneath him, unseeing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his mind reeled. He was a tidal wave, yes. He had crashed upon the shore with all the wild thunder of a typhoon, but in the end, he was the one disappearing back into the ocean while the shore remained just as it had been.

What was he doing?

What had he done?

Taax?

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. There was no one to find to unleash this wrath upon. The only one who deserved it had removed herself from the equation and left him powerless to expel this anguish. He was stuck with it. There was no where to put it, no where to hide it. There was no one to give it to. It was his, and his alone, and the weight of that realization had him choking helplessly beneath it.

"She's gone."

He sobbed.

"She's... She's dead. She's gone."

He fell.

"She's gone."