The hero speaks to his scribe...
In the deepest night, he calls to me
wanting solace, in dread of his plight
he wipes down his sword with her last token to him
eyes dark and beseeching.
I'm afraid, he says, his soft words
a dream voice I know that only I hear
ripples in stream, its melody haunted
the moon gleams on blade, relentless strokes.
You send me to this, steer me to my doom
I see on your face how it pains you so
your pen is your weapon, your sword of queens
you linger and waver, while here I wait.
Do what you must, but..
do not tarry too long... the earth burns even now.