Let your hand guide me

Rest it on weary blood.

Each step is curse

As the crow shrill laugh.

The white wind calls

Let the wolf and the owl answer.

It beckons me forwards, the never-ending fight

The time of the chill, the flame and the loss

Forwards, forwards we trundle.

Careful in our plans.

The pieces move slowly, tipping another

But the pieces are too quick,

Tides turn unreliably.

Each little red dot falls in turn.

They are stronger then we,

United in stance against our scramble.

Four corners to a box, but the box is not square.

Its chipping at our stone

Slowly and slowly

Weary blood falls.