The Crows Ahead Cry War
Wayfarer
Dusk, a primal vibrant red; violent Clouds, seeping color - the crows cry out war The plains, they tremble - anxious, the night brings blood The cold bitter night, awaiting flame and fury Swift like the night, the riders descend The braves circle around; torches to the night, arrows to the dawn The smoke marks an early grave, it rises with the Sun