A farewell:
The late-afternoon sun slowly drifts toward its rest. Grey/black clouds of smoke mingle with the golden-orange clouds of days end. Twilight approaches as hoards of men and women solemnly gather upon the hill. Most with their heads bowed, a few with misty-eyes peer to some far away place upon the horizon. All have come to bid farewell, to share their respects for one who is leaving this world behind. Before the masses is a lone, battle-weary ranger. His packs are bulging with supplies and all his worldly possessions. One-by-one those gathered file by. They wish him well and share their hopes for safe journey and peace at journeys end. At last he stands before all those whose paths have crossed his in his adventures. With bow slung ore his shoulder and sword at his hip, he bows one last bow to friend and neighbor. He turns and looks on down the winding road, wondering what may lie in store for him. The elves begin to sing a song of passing. Their ethereal voices floating ever so gently upon a sea of soft stringed notes, strummed tenderly, from gracefully fingered bards.
As the sun nears the end of its journey and twinkling stars wake to light the way, the solemn ranger steps out and his journey begins anew.
Safe Journeys Friend.
Edited, Thu Jan 29 09:33:12 2004 by Visagoth