Too long you have wandered in the open.
Too long you have bowed your head.
Too long you have fought without cause.
You never weary of raising your voice.
You never tire of the burn in your throat.
You never feel your fervor diminish.
But now is not the time for outrage.
Now is not the time for war.
Five years in the stone has made you weak.
Five years of quiet contentment.
Five years of tender touch has bled your temper.
There is a time for cries of outrage.
There is a time for bloodied fists.
There is a time for war.
But where have you hidden your claws?
Where have you concealed your fangs?
You gird your body with metal plate.
You gird your heart with courage.
You gird your mind with resolve.
Now there comes the time for outrage.
Now there comes a cause to defend.
Now there comes a reason for revolt.
But do not let the shadow bring you fear.
Do not let the blood deplete your strength.
Your claws were sharp unto the end.
You claws cut deep and sharp and red.
Your claws surround you on the marble stairs.
Your fangs bit hard and desperate.
Your fangs tore flesh from bone.
Your fangs bled dry the thick black mire that tried to take your home.
But your cry will never again be raised.
Your cry is quiet, but remains.