The Traveller's Coronach

Here now you lay, kin to the last, as a mournsome wind whistles past. Where do its tones and its currents take you, you who have given more than is your due? May the birds borne aloft on its breath carry your tale past the sill of death, bearing our memories in their cries sung brightly among the sundry skies. We resolve to bear you with us as well, recalled in every wood, meadow and dell. For when the nights grow cold and long, we will warm ourselves with your song. Each time we chance to walk this way our respects we will come to pay, for the victories and the cost of the honored and of the lost.