Generations passed, yet the struggles never ceased——  

but some things had quietly begun to change.

The clash had died down,  

yet the air remained thick with dust and blood.

Two large pigs, their bodies marked with dried and freshly bleeding wounds.

Dust and broken tiles scattered beneath their hooves as they stared into the depths of the village——

Their once-familiar home had been reduced to rubble, nothing left but shattered walls and broken beams.

In an instant, they dropped their sticks and began clawing through the rubble.

The pig mother pawed through the ruins with all four limbs, panting, her voice trembling.

“Babies, Mama’s here!”

The pig father, voice hoarse, kept clawing into the wreckage, shouting into the depths of the house:

“Can you hear me? Please… answer Papa… please…”

Then——a faint sound.

They froze for a split second, then scrambled toward it with all their might.

A broken beam was lifted, revealing a small, familiar hoof buried in dust.

It was a little pig, battered and bruised, still gripping a snapped wooden stick.

The pig father carefully lifted him, hooves shaking, only to find a smaller body curled beneath his own.

The little pig’s breathing was uneven, and he stammered, “Sister… is she… okay…”

“Whimper…”

The pig mother held back her sobs and quickly wrapped the trembling daughter in her embrace.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered softly, “She’s fine. You protected her really well.”

The little pig looked up, his gaze already fading.

“Am I… a brave warrior…?”

The pig father pressed down on his child’s wound, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

Eyes rimmed with red, he lowered his head and forced his voice to stay steady.

“Yes. You’re the bravest warrior Papa has ever known.”

Upon hearing this, the little pig smiled faintly.

Thud——

The small stick slipped from his hoof.

And the light in his eyes went out.

The air froze. A breeze blew through the broken tiles, lifting a swirl of dust  

that drifted gently in the silence.

The night wind howled low,  

and firelight flickered between the ruins of the village.

The elder slowly stepped into the center of the clearing,  

his body stained with soot and mud.

He bent down, picked up a charred branch,  

and drew a curved line across the ground.

Then, lifting his head, he calmly swept his gaze over the gathered crowd.

“Everyone——”

"Prepare the marks."

Clumps of damp clay were passed to the hooves of the bereaved.

They gently pressed a part of their loved one’s body into the mud,  

leaving behind a mark that was theirs alone.

As the ritual progressed, one body after another  

was carefully placed in the clearing beside the bonfire.

A broad-shouldered boar stepped forward,  

a heavy blade strapped to his side.

He stopped, faced his kin,  

then lowered his head and bowed deeply.

“I, first warrior of the boar tribe,  

will carry our kin through their final journey.”

As his words faded, the firelight flickered across his face——  

a face both solemn and resolute.

The tribe silently nodded and stepped aside.

The warrior entered the fire circle,  

and with a swift motion, brought the blade down.

The firewood crackled, crisp and soft, mixing with the scent of wind and grass.

Just a step from the fire, rows of mud trays lay neatly on the ground.

Some bore hoofprints, others an ear or a snout——some marks were too blurred to tell.

Finally, a gentle aroma began to spread through the stillness.

The pigs lifted their bowls and gathered around the fire.  

They ate and talked——some with laughter, some with tears—— 

as if recounting a reunion long overdue.

That night, the sky was unusually bright.  

Smoke curled upward, rising like starlight, and faded into the sky.