Stout and solid as can be
when all the warriors are gone
Red Fire remains
last of the warrior command
the last beacon that stands
Knowing when conflict comes to her
war may not have prevailed
but she’ll be damned if she forgets a champion’s hail
A hilt in hand
chin on her brace
the brumal war cannot touch her burning commitment
to the principles and strength that made her, her
that made her proud home
Her armor is light
made from the pride of the hunt
it will aide in moving quickly to the site of men’s wages of death
Rising with one foot of bravery and one of sorrow
telling her horse they ride in the morrow and may not return
furious fire will spin in her eyes until she knows her kind may still be alive
Of this much there is certain
bowing to look the old steed in the eyes
this may be the beginning
this may be goodbye
but she’ll be damned if she forgets a champion’s hail
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A deep connection with the horse is what stands out for me, no matter what happens. Thank you for sending. You are my 262nd bedtime story.