I saw you fall, and the pain was more than I could bare standing so far from the battle.
I ran to you, but they held me back. The battle to hot, the blood spilled to quickly.
I watched from my perch upon my steed and held my face as cold as stone.
You would have been proud of me.
I waited for the night to come and wipe the pain from my heart.
The cold breath of steel is all I hold tight to my breast.
I will ride out tonight, not to return home again.
But to bring instead my vengeance upon those who stole the life from my soul.
The day has passed and they buried my prince, in the arms of the Earth.
Yet even then I had neither tears nor heart, nor last words to as you were laid to rest.
My father thinks I am asleep now, as I take up your sword, the last remembrance of you.
And now I should pray with what remains of my soul, but the gods do not answer,
Only the cold darkness beckons me home.
I thought I would have fear clawing at me, or anger to drive me, but there is nothing.
There should have been tears for you, my husband. Mother says that it is natural to cry.
But I feel only coldness burrowing inside my soul, wiping away the warmth of yesterday.
I do not feel the emptiness I know must plague my eyes.
I will kill them all and lay their heads upon your pyre, and lay myself to die beside you.
