THE TALE OF A SHE-ELF’S RISE TO WARRIOR
The garrison marched. Nimgalliel waited
until the last of the lines to fall in, to blend.
Some of them looked, shook their heads, and smiled;
she grinned back.
In the tower, looking down, the King and Queen saw her, as
they turned, perplexed, and gazed upon each other.
“You should’ve known to forbid her
makes her more determined.
She’s not another She-Elf
in the kingdom. Nimgalliel will
follow his footsteps.”
He looked at her, “It troubles me. I made a promise
ere they died
she would be cared for,
and suffer no harm.”
She smiled, “My love, she is young. Let her do this.”
They walked away from the tower overlook
and said small prayers for their warriors’ safe return.
Said the King to his son,
“Good night, my Prince, my heir, my blood.”
Below, Nimgalliel, and the others marched on,
she, uneasy; they undaunted.
Chorus– in unison:
She, a warrior, like her father, dreamt of battle until she could stand no more. The murderers all were vanquished, and in her dream, Nimgalliel faked death no more. The gods thrust the dagger into her hands, and without a sound, it wielded true. She would prevail, for when any man gloats that he will enjoy killing a woman and her destiny, it is his moment of weak bravado.