The Aftermath

Smoke of burnt ashes filled the stench air,

Of cadavers poisonous fume here and there.

A banshee spread her wings on the blast,

And breathed in those faces as she passed.

The earth was covered with a carpet of bodies,

And plundered lands and razed homes and torched granaries.

Casualties of fighters and their steeds,

All were dead, and no more blood to bleed.

The sky was cruel, as cold as bones.

The banners unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

Only one stood,

The sole hero of the Brotherhood.

A saddened rider distorted and pale,

With a shield in one hand, another a flail.

Through his armour could be seen his pride,

But now melancholy had replaced his might.

What victor should he celebrate,

When his brothers are now all dead?