And I dreamt of a grey time when all men rode forth,
a summons, from the king drawing them to their fate.
A king’s call, an oath’s call,
More surely than night follows day did they give their reply.
More surely than night follows day.
We women and children fast-rooted stood, waving and calling
upon Bema,
to guide them,
to grant them victory,
yet some few could contain not their grief of foresight,
and ran after the cavalcade with tears of woe.
Not so, she and I, bracelet bound kin.
We knew what lay ahead. We knew what was expected.
I hugged her then, laying a fierce kiss of protection upon her straw fair hair.
‘Hold, daughter mine’, I whispered,’for in so doing we gift him all we may,
that he ride forth knowing we are strong.
It can be no other way.’
But I thought in my heart, ‘Though the enemy be fell-wrought, we shall see him again’
And if not, if no longer could we speak each to the other in the ways of loved ones,
then the wolf would seek him out, no matter what path he fell upon, be it before the dark-threatened gates of Minas Tirith, or some green-wood of the Wose-folk.
No matter how far away,
the wolf would find him and lead him home.
In a sea of grass, under a fair blue sky….I would keep watch. He would find me there, be it in this life or the next, when he rode home.
More surely than day follows night.
