Role

Chapter 4

The following is an autobiographical poem in the third person by Ild about a life altering
event and how it has affected her.

The Smallest of Saviors

The battle was lost,
prostrate she lay,
To strong were the foes,
She faced on that day.

The last thing she heard,
As the men gathered 'round,
Was the tearing of clothes,
As she felt herself bound.

Such horrors of war,
Cruel memories make,
She must lock them away,
And forget for her sake.

Now battles she'll seek,
To bury the past,
For each new one dims,
Memories of the last.

But the merciful heart,
With which she was blessed,
Lay dying from wounds,
That cannot be dressed.

Alone she would ponder,
Thoughts too dark to write,
Drawn towards the abyss,
And too weak to fight.

But blackest the night,
Just before the dawn breaks,
Then sun paints the sky,
With the day as it wakes.

What could never be fixed,
Has new hope for repair,
Her strength found within,
The child she doth bear.

Lest you find her salvation,
A curse to begrudge,
Try to be the one drowning,
Then you can be judge.

For this child as much love,
As her hate for it's sire,
She'll pay any price,
It's protection require.

Places she can retreat,
Near them she will stay,
She must hunt close to home,
And forgo distant prey.

She'll conceal all she can,
From her brothers in war,
Knowing when they find out,
She'll be welcome no more.

As such she now lives,
While protecting her own,
What tomorrow may bring,
Cannot yet be known.

-Ild