(By a surviving Stormborne brother after the first great battle)
Ash in their hair, fire in their breath,
They stood as the sun wept low in the west.
Brothers and sisters with storm in their veins, Fell to the ground, where silence remains.
The drums were our hearts, the sky was our cry.
We fought not for gold, but so others might try.
Their names now lie carved in oak and in stone.
But the warmth of their hands is forever gone.
I held my blade, not proud but numb.
As the wind carried whispers of those who’d succumbed.
Each shadow a friend, each pool of red
A story cut short, a word left unsaid.
Now only three of us gather each night,
Around the fire, beneath the stars’ light.
We drink to the fallen.
We bleed in the song.
And carry their memory proud, fierce, and strong.
Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.
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