The battle was long and fierce. The barbarians are as fearsome as the tales claim, though their steeds do not breathe fire. Many men have died, including Ahmond the Jeweler. I myself have taken many grievous wounds. They are fatal, I believe.

It is not as difficult as I expected, the dying. I ache more for my daughter, now fatherless, and for my Lisel, now husbandless. I pray Takat will take care of them, if he lives, and his wife Sorchet will comfort them.

My body is flung away from battle. I land hard, on my stomach, but I do not feel it. I crane my neck up, to catch my last glimpse of sky. I wish I could see my homeland one more time, but I cannot. I must make do with simple sky.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see standing above me a child with the face of a man. The bards tell of his kind, but I did not believe until now. This creature out of legend looks down at me. I cannot tell if he can see my face, but I can see his. It is full of pity and confusion. I would answer his questions, if I could. I would tell him of my home. I would tell him how my wife and daughter adore the tales of his kind. I wish I could return to tell Lisel I saw one of her legends come to life. She would have loved to hear of it.

I watch him watch me die. A tear slips down his oddly mature little face. I notice he is unshod. I think I must craft shoes for him someday.