اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
Treacherous hills and fallen branches.
Light from the moon, howls from the wind.
The trail ends to a blanket of leaves dense with trees as far as they allow me to see.
Where will my next step bring me, to a field where one man once reigned.
Battle ensued, a valley of ashes is now the past.
A burial site soiled with families, a family remembered by a wound on a tree.
The crest, sword raised, the call of battle.
The map sketched among the wounded tree now filled of sap and the memory of all the children this family lost.
