Ya taught me the sadness of losing 'em things I never held,
and mayhap kindled that first lil' urge to kill.
To make a curse of all 'em dreikathi's name,
and look upon 'em trees and picture somethin' I aint never seen.

Do ya remember 'em, Alia?
As they probably was, Aalen-shaped, kingly proud with all 'em colors ruddy and green?
Do ya remember the Bloodwood? Not, like, the deed (damn 'em Dreikathi to the Pit!)
but the place. Our dying field. Where roots still crept and 'em canopies, trembling, breathed
to one day sing again.

How long its been since ya first felt the shadows of 'em ships?
Where ya she-child? She-maiden? Older, mebbe?

And again when shadow rained from 'em false dragon wings,
and drowned with ink the thought of a someday spring.

You hid, and sang 'em spirits to their rest,
But its high time to see maybe it aint peace they crave.

So many years have gone in lullabies to the dead!
Mebbe its high time to learn 'nother song and join in dance,

the trampling, bloodied sort with rushing glee.
We'll sing and scream and curse and spin
when we claim a new home for our kin.


Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 15th of Sapiarch, in the year 5 AC.