【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第六章（上）(6)

Tubbo had seen as hundred corpses—they’d fallen against him during the battle, or he’d pulled them free from rock and dirt—but few had looked as peaceful as the prince in death. It was almost as if he was sleeping, his mortal wound hidden by his clothes and the red-and-blue coat tucked up to his chin. His head rested against soft hay a shade darker than his own golden hair. Tubbo could almost see himself shaking the prince awake. And the prince would blink drowsiness from his eyes, ask Tubbo who he was, and Tubbo would say, “A friend,” and maybe in another life that wouldn’t be a lie.

Tubbo’s cheeks felt warm. He knew he must be crying. He knew he must be sad. But for whom? Who was he even mourning? His kingdom’s prince, yes, but the harsher truth, a stranger. A stranger whose laughter still faintly echoed in Tubbo’s head like a half-remembered song from a distant childhood. A stranger who’d gambled his life for his kingdom and lost it a heartbeat away from victory—if this bitter thing could even be called that. A stranger that felt like no stranger at all. But a stranger nonetheless, Tubbo reminded himself.