Smats poem of the Battle
High Fields (upon the Battles Day)
War, calls over the green grass,
Steel rings; chasing the night.
Tight hands stand at the ready,
bloodlust calls for the fight.
Comrades shoulder to shoulder,
dogs loosed, foes now is sight.
Clash here defending the homeland,
win through, or die in the fight.
We cannot say who will prevail,
we dare not belittle their might.
But sunset, bloodied and battered
the victor will call on the Night.
So we hold tight, last clasp to the families,
Homefire tears, guarding the right.
We stand fast, weathereye to the stormfront
fields like beach heads, oceans of plight.
Spectral ancestors keep vigil behind us
For it Now Kinsman! Into the Fight.
The above entries were from Smat's journal kept
during the early turnings. As the Darklings fell upon the
northern plains, routed the populace, and eventually
attempted siege upon RavensDale, the threat of war had worried
those awake, even disturbing the dreaming of the sleepers.
So it was in the early turnings.
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