Conquistador knew something was wrong the moment he followed the waves ashore. The Paradise he had always known was a peaceful place, but there was nothing serene about the silence that greeted him now. Though it was well into the morning, the beach was empty of all life, its bone-white sands undisturbed. Despite the warmth of the Atlantean air, a chill traveled down Conquistador's spine. "Tarrant?" the boy called out questioningly, his voice cracking and quavering. Only the sea answered, whispering softly over the sands behind him, but revealing no secrets.

"Xina? Mera?" A note of panic crept into the palomino's voice, and he began to tremble. "Sokka? Sylvia? Elliot?" A breath of wind stirred the palm fronds and briefly lifted his ivory bangs, but nobody came. Suddenly, Conquistador couldn't bear to be still; he had to be moving, to be searching for his family. He had to do something. Forcing his numb limbs into motion, he began to walk down the beach, and his eyes were inevitably drawn to the spot where he had once lain with the dark filly. They had drawn comfort from each other's closeness that day, but it had ended all too soon.

"Little black bird?" He had no name for her; nothing save the memory of that single moment. A boy had told her he would return before he left in search of his brother, but it was a stallion that returned to Atlantis to find that she was gone. They were all gone. His father, his mother, his family.

Gone.

His dark eyes glazing over with tears, Conquistador gazed into the shadows of the forest, and the emptiness of the abyss stared back at him.