Dem

I am sitting among my friends Copper and Nelendor, along with my Papa and Father. A lot is going on, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed, so I sit a bit off, and listen to their talk. I find writing poems helps me to calm, so here we go...

Poem 1:

Syllea had left the inn trembling and crying. Cat followed her, seeming very attentive to the girl's feelings. Syllea did not notice this, though. She wanted to run until the inn was no longer in her sight but got no farther than a few steps past the door; she collapsed into the grass and let out a heart-wrenching scream. Tears poured down her face, her fingers dug into the grass beneath her, and her breathing became rapid and quick as she struggled to get air into her lungs.

Claws like cats,

Teeth like swords.

Graceful creatures,

Killing monsters.

Dogs from above,

Monsters from below.

Shredding hands,

Dear Mama and Papa,

Outside The Pony stands a line of Drummers, they wear green uniforms. Their hair, blondes, and redheads covered in ashes. For those from Rohan, they will recognize drummers ready to perform the last rites for a fallen. Behind them mill many waiting to follow. There are a surprisingly large number of children present. All with varying amounts of dirt on their faces, unkempt clothing, often worn thin. Street urchins, those forgotten by the masses, left to their own devices to live or die as may happen. Circling the children an honor guard. All armed with bow and spear.