#bykara

Now dear Théodred lies in darkness, most loyal of fighters. The sound of the harp shall not wake the warrior; nor shall the man hold a golden wine-cup, nor good hawk swing through the hall, nor the swift horse stamp in the courtyard...

"If I should return, think better of me, father."

Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day's rising he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing. Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended; over death, over dread, over doom lifted out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.