The endless, shifting sands of time,
Flow through the fingers of a warrior.
He stands and faces south,
With no intention of returning home.
His homeland has been destroyed,
Touched by the Hands of War.
Where there once was light,
Darkness now covers the land.
He has nowhere to go, but north,
To the lands of the same creatures,
Who murdered his family.
The harsh sun glints off his black fur,
The light shines on his golden jewelry.
He pricks his ears and smells the air,
There is a survivor in the ruins.
Helping her gently to her feet,
She thanks the Warrior.
Muscles flexing beneath her Blueish-Black fur,
She sorts through the rubble to claim an item.
Lying in her paw is the source for this war,
A Token made from pure gold,
And hanging from a golden chain.
The bearers of this token are forever
Made immortal, and shall be worshipped
As Gods and Goddesses, even after death.
A token of endless life,
In the paws of these two survivors,
Has become a token of eternal love,
Who vow to keep it safe forever.
Proud Goddess of Healing,
And Proud God of War,
Hold paws and set off toward the land of their enemies.
They shall conquer and they shall reign,
Until the sands of time cease to move,