Here, the red sun falling, the sky inflamed, and the blood tide rising. A carrion field this day, and so would I go, steel as we soak the dead ground. But this battle's done. We turn red with day's end, with the dying. The sky opens pitiless eyes on the fallen. All is come undone. A thing half of shadows yet holds me: my stain, my son. I'll see him dead. I'll drown in pain before I let life slip, 'til word is brought. My life's a stone, this last I'll win, I'll cling. A spearpoint in my side, a line of fire driving higher. I burn and time's a string, and I spin in-- Time slips, now, wheels like the stars, the Warrior, red-gemmed, remembering (The dog rests his graying head at knee, a muzzle cold and fine to the hand.) We have watched the faces change within the ranks. The old dogs die. Let the light fade, for a time, for a time, let it fail soft as memory: bracken scent and honey glow of hill fires, the silver stab of stars, a spiral in the stone, flashed, down.