I hold these papers in my hands, their long spidery handwriting blurring away in the dim candle light.
“So it comes to this.”
I look out to my flock, an expanse that stretches far out before me, pure white. I can see the wolves prowling upon the edges. The sheep panic, the rams quarrel with one another. The wolves laugh.
And here I am, upon the bluff. Behind us, a storm is quickly bearing down. There is shelter, but we shall not reach it in time. O Lord, what are we to do?
I take up my pen, the words seem to form upon the pale paper before me. Grave words, words that shall echo through the centuries. For eternal memory, for better or for worse. Finally, it has finished and my hand hovers now over the final spot. Shall my name be put to this? Shall I now accept the words here and whatever blood or pain may come thereto. Yes, I must.
So there it is, a name signed in my life blood as much as it is in this sable ink. This Urth shall not forget, though I wish it would.
Red wax, a gold seal. It is done.
