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The Vale
Brittle pebbles glide across the grass
As they hit boots The wind speaks of the coming storm
The grass shines in the dawn as if offering its morning dew to the elements
The rain beats against the branches making them damp and resilient
The frigid air bites at the skin causing fleeting feet and desire for warmth
This field calls for prayers
Guides people into their destiny
Talkers into vindicators
Thinkers into idealists
Watchers into consuls
Protectors into guardians
All into warriors
Brace your virtues
For all is left on this field
The vale does not suffer the living to pass without a price
Thus all who come into this field leave champions
Thus all who enter the midst of the green and dark temptress of vine and oak shall know peril
Thus all who dare gaze into the abyss with eyes as broken as the feet of the fallen that lay there
Thus all who smell the pungent scent of worth and purpose vibrating off the blades of green sheathed in the very soil
Thus all who hear the wisp of the night against the humming of the sage colored canvass
Thus all who taste the dry cut of the dirt that spews into the atmosphere
Thus all who feel the glow of the mist on their soul, the warmth of the sun on their lips, the chill of the stars in their spine
In this field we enter hollow knowing nothing but the desires in our minds that cloud our very existence
Out this field we leave with hope, that one day we will return as warriors and await our next task
We leave with hope
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