The road the people had built ran straight to his home, but the rubble heap was gone. Caesar ran for where the entrance should have been and smashed through the black rock that made the top of the street. Underneath he found that grey rock that only people could make. His shaft was filled in.
In grief Caesar ran to the left, following a fork in the road, running for his theater. His song had stopped.
He stumbled along over the smooth road, unaccustomed to such easy routes. The run was shorter, though more awkward, when he arrived.
Where his theater used to be.
Instead of his theater, with the ruins of his parents' bench and Marcus' seat, there was a black road, running nowhere as yet. Off to the side lay a field of large stones, no two left atop on another. Apparently the people hoped to build something new with them.
Caesar fell to his knees, then on to his face. And the king wept there, on the ruins of his castle. His body was racked with the awful sobs that barely made a sound. He could not even grip the ground in his anguish, the black stone being too smooth.
The people found him there, nearly asleep after having cried for so long he was exhausted. He had thrown away the bars of his cage somewhere in the stumbling run, and lay there weaponless. The people came again with their crane and hoisted him up. He was much too dangerous to leave at large, so they lay him in the bed of an open bedded truck and drove away. Then they dropped him into a new cage, and this time made sure to run live wires around all the bars, to deter him from breaking out again.
As Caesar lay there he watched the people recover from the aftermath. Few of them had died, and none had been captured, or at least those that had had been left behind as they all fled from the wrath of the king. Preparations were being made for future defenses, and Caesar watched as a wire was laid at the base of the bridge, against large piles of reddish sticks. How could they hope to burn a bridge made of the king's stones and their own magical, smooth black stuff?
As Caesar lay there in despair, imagining all the glorious days he had lived before the people came, thinking of his precious hairbrush that was covered over, and his carvings now annihilated, he wanted to cry, but had no tears left. And then as he lay with his head on the floor he saw her. She was still smiling as tears rolled down her face. She approached the humming and crackling wires, trying to reach through. So the king pushed he hand away, and tore a few of the wires. He reached his own hand out, and the minute she grasped it her tears were stopped. And the king was glad.