“They are gone” the warrior whispered as he removed his helm, his voice melted into the gentle wind brushing across his face carrying the silver tears from his eyes and off into the night as he stared emptily into the horizon before him. Long locks of hair flowed down onto his shoulders resting upon the grey armor shining red as the haze around him drifted effortlessly, clinging to the world refusing to leave with the wind. He couldn’t forget the memories of his lost comrades, nor the sight of their broken bodies as they laid on the field of battle.

The warrior looked high into the dark sky, clouded as it was he could still see the moon, yet the she gave no light to him and seemed to be fading away. Holding his sword by its hilt the warrior’s sorrow burst from his armor, and he let out a cry that filled the silence around him sending back the fog that had been moving toward him. The helm he held dropped to the ground and he, the warrior, fell to his knees. He leaned upon his standing sword for strength and cried “Give me strength!” this time his voice was greater and no longer a whisper, yet he seemed to speak as if it pained him to do so. His cry was full of grief, and had there been a soul around his sadness would have pierces their being. Tears rolled from his eyes again, and they tumbled down his cheek running freely until they separated themselves from his face and flew off into the air. The wind crept up and carried the silver liquid away and the manifestation of his sorrow disappeared into nothingness.

Far away the sun was beginning to rise, it had not yet appeared from the hills but it sent light into the land nonetheless, it’s the red light clashed with the darkness above providing the coloring in the fog of the land. The warrior grabbed his helm from the ground and stood up to his feet, he could not erase the sadness within, it seemed to grip him by the heart not letting him feel anything else. He took his sword and brought it up to his face and looked deeply into the cold steel surface, passed the runes on the blade he looked upon himself, and there he saw his slain friend’s eyes looking back, yet this time the eyes held not pain, nor did they hold fear, they held warmth and friendship. The warrior smiled as his sadness slowly dissipated and seemed to fall away. As the eyes in the sword looked deep into his soul, they suddenly changed, and he saw no longer his dead friends, only his own reflection. And there in the eyes looking back at him his own eyes, was the same warmth that he had seen before, something he had thought he lost. He now knew no matter what he did they would be with him.

The warrior put his helm back on and looked up at the moon once more, he smiled and said “Good-bye my friends...” Once more his voice was the only sound in the land around, yet this time it was much different than before. No longer ravaged by guilt and sorrow, it now carried his buried sense of pride. “ But from now on,” he continued, “I’ll stand on my own strength.” He then laid his sword onto his shoulder and stepped forward.

Sorrow
by Monk