“Let your voices call, to the memory of mates lost, and eggs unhatched - unfertilized eggs and young just hatching - let your voices call upon our memory - and let our broadcast echo across the universe, that it may be remembered as the Dirge of the Avnari. We beg forgiveness, that we were not strong enough, we beg mercy on our souls, even as we fail. And as our home world should burn - let our people be…”
Looking up from an instrument, burned from the explosion across the deck, a young, just second-molted Avnari lifted his beak, dented from the concussion of the blast, and saw a strange light blinking across the half-broken deck. It was a weak light - barely was there power to make it function. Life support would run out in two hours - but this strange sight caught his attention. He absently flicked three claws across the panel, and a voice - grating, growling, mammilian, cut across the intercom.
“Yhoomanithyee ssssheeerp “Yaeeemhatho” Hyeeerh, Rrhehhsphhondhiiing” It came out - a rough sounding voice. But, this voice wasn’t one that came from the accursed Derjkot, nor was it from one of the seven other trade races that had once been friends and allies before cowardice and shame turned them and their backs. There was no anger, only sorrow, from the Avnari, to be turned from. But it was just - they had done the same for two others. It was now their turn. “Hweeh ssshaeel cuhooovherr hhyewww”
“What voice was that?” Came the startled cry of a companion - one who clutched a ritual blade and had been preparing to slice through a vein in their thigh. The blade dropped with a clatter - an echoing sound through the ship that turned all eyes upon the ensign. His hand shook, but he reached for the small response and communication button, and flicked it into reply mode. The sound came back in a small metallic whine, before clearing.