VERY dark, sad, blah, all that. Don't read if you cry easily.

The battle was lost. The war was lost. She had ordered a full retreat, hopped onto a horse, and led the shattered troops into the forest. They were remnants, little broken pieces of the resistance that once fought so strongly, so beautifully. They had destroyed so many towns, cities. They had set so many places ablaze, ordered surrenders, ordered change. These stragglers were the lucky, the strong, and the cowardly, the few who had lived through this crusade for the new world she had envisioned.

The new world that would never be.

She had put her heart and soul into it, broken so many limbs, received so many scars. She thought that would be enough, that she would win and get the last of the humans to change, to end the pain of her people. Yes, her people... these animals, the few around her, they were like her. Her body didn't matter, her spirit did. The spirit they all shared was bruised and dying, held up only by a small cold pride that none of them really possessed.

Beside her, the ear of a coyote perked. One by one, the troops turned, looked over their shoulders. And when that tank loomed over the horizon, they turned, ready to stand their ground for the last time.

“Leave,” She told them. The shook their heads. “Leave.” She repeated. It was an order. She climbed off her horse, let them all go. The tank stayed at the top of the hill as they left, scattering into the forest as commanded. A shot rang out.

She didn't feel the fall, just suddenly found herself face to face with the ground. Her blood pooled around her. A man, older and with his face permanently stuck into a frown, turned her onto her back with his foot. She felt her heartbeat pound, pound, pound, pulsing through his leg and to his heart. It cried, defiant even now.

But while her heart was strong, her body was failing her. Jenna didn't move, just looked at him. Another bullet hit her, in her other knee, shattering it as well as its twin. Blood spurted from it.

He informed her softly that the ambassador, the man she had ordered dead, was his father. The captain she had beheaded, that was his uncle. His brother was the very hunter she had killed first. And now, he would have his revenge, she thought. The same way she had fought for her brethren, he would fight for his.

And yet it was obvious whose vengeance would reign supreme.

Her broken arm's makeshift splint was cut, but though it twisted in a disgusting way, she didn't feel it. She didn't feel the bullet enter her stomach. Blood dripped from her mouth, from her legs. She felt her life slipping away with it. The man sneered at her, called her things she didn't understand or think about.

It was strange. Where most people would be screaming in pain, clutching their wounds and calling for help... she didn't feel it. She felt the drip, drip, drip of blood as it left her mouth. But not the shells of metal that had forced their way into her legs. Perhaps that was nature's mercy, a swift death. She thought of all the ones who had sacrificed themselves for her. The fox who had taken the bullet with her name on it, the ones who went to her defense at all the assassination attempts, the ones who carried her into battle and never came out. They all looked at her the same way when they died, with those same words, 'it's up to you now' repeating again and again. Did she look that way too, now that it was her turn?

She felt a pair of eyes on her, not a human's. Another, another. Slowly, Jenna turned to the forest, where her brethren stood, watching, waiting to see her off for the last time. The general yelled at them, screamed 'shoo!', and they stood tall, watched her.

They were the last things she saw, the world fading to black around her.

When she was dead, the general had her body torn apart, tossing the pieces to the animals she called friends. He laughed when the thought of them eating their former master came to his mind. He frowned when all they did was stare him down, take the pieces, and leave to bury them somewhere safe, somewhere where her dream would be desecrated no longer.

They sat by her grave, the last few hearts in her chorus of strength. One by one, the let themselves die, of wounds, of starvation, of sadness.

The last to go was Draco, the one who had been her pet during the days she lived with other humans. He curled up beside her grave, his final breath carried away on the wind.