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Long was the world from the ashes of war,
And silent the halls where the nameless lie;
The Star still watched from heights afar,
Where time lay folded and years went by.
The Wolf went wandering, scarred and alone,
With no name to guard her and no hearth to know;
Her songs were knives and her heart was stone,
Along roads where grass would never regrow.
When sword was sheathed and cries grew still,
When memory faltered and grief drew breath,
They met where moon lay upon the hill,
Beyond the last pale gates of death.
"After everything," the Star then said,
"After ice and exile and vanished years,
Do we yet belong to the paths we tread,
Or only to what survives our fears?"
The Wolf knelt not, nor bowed her head,
But lost the steel and oath she'd sworn;
The earth received the edge she shed,
And silence outlived wrath and scorn.
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