Slowly he lift his head and gaze over the the enemies that wait at the horizon. A tear linger on his cheek making another path down his face before it fall down towards the floor wet with tears.
He place his hand on his brothers stone coffin, carefylly avoiding the sharp thorns on the roses placed upon it. Slowly he stand once more and takes a deep breath. The cold air form a white cloud from his mouth as he exhale and draw his sword.
His brother has been mourned, his body laid to rest. Now it is time to put sorrow aside and prepare for battle. For the first time he will stand alone without the aid of his brothers strong arm and courageous heart and it make him hesitate.
A firm hand lands on his shoulder and he turn to see his fathers gentle smile. On the other shoulder another hand toches his shoulder and he turn to meet the kind and caring faces of his brothers friends who have come to stand against the coming tide. Behind them he see his son standing tall in front of his brave wife and mother. He is not alone in his battle or mourning.
High up on the sharp and icy mountains he hear a wolf howl. Deep and seemingly wrecked in sorrow, but slowly the sound changes into a howl of comfort and then unforgiving rage. The howling echo through the valley below them and before it fades another wolf answer, then another and another until the valley is filled with the cry of the Wolves.
The hand around his heavy blade grasp the hilt firmly and he pick up his shield from beside his brothers coffin and secure it firmly to his arm. His gaze is fimly fixed on the enemies below and his eyes burn with fury. Behind him he hear his family and friends do the same and then as the wolves howling suddenly stops silence wrap them all in a blanket of defening silence.
He give his brothers coffin one last look and nod softly in farewell and then march out towards the enemies line. Around him he see the shapes of wolves march with him towards the battlefield below. One large white wolf comes closer to march almost by his side and he meet its gaze for a brief moment and then fixate his gaze on his enemies once more with a soft smile on his lips.
He now know that his brother has reurned to their ancestors. He recognise his brother soul as it walk next to him. His brothers body may be gone and buried, but his soul will always be with him and it comfort him.
The white wolf next to him bare his fangs and attack as he do the same. Blood and death mixed with sorrow and suffering will drown the enemies on this day.
His brothers death will be avenged and anyone standing to harm his family or friends will be destroyed. No mercy will be given on this day, no prisoners taken. Only unforgiving rage and suffering to those foolish enough to stand against the wrath of the mourning tidalwave pouring down the mountainside…0 som gillar detta