It was the 9th of The First Seed, S.A. 251.
A bloodied form lay sitting next to a grave, listening to the water run nearby him, and the beautiful birds chirping as his life faded away. The form was a Kha'Leonis, with a black and yellow mane. Though, that mane was soaked in red. As were his hands, and most of all, his chest. It was covered in slashes and cuts.
The Kha' hadn't bothered trying to find a doctor. He knew he had lost too much blood, and he knew he wouldn't make it far enough. Instead, he began going up a mountain. He climbed to the grave he now sat beside. It was his father's. He had built that grave, stone by stone, the day before. It was sort of ironic, that he died where he did.
Ronan Mons de Alencar-Vuiller built his own grave, where forever he lay.
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This was my first pk post so sorry it lwk sucks