It Was Tilkon And The Others from the Lady Camp
Still alive.
Moving
Milling
Around me.
Our women.
Our people.
Alive.
Our women.
My women.
Alive.
The ground gives beneath me
Their voices drift.
Their arms support me
My weapons
My gear
Removed.
And I am carried
To one of their tents.
To one of their beds.
Sheets sun dried stiff sheets.
Sheets so white I must close my eyes
So, clean I must turn my face into their scent and weep no more.
