Part One: Sondar ol dunthyrih
The mountain people are on the verge of war
With their eternal foes, those of the Jo'ar.
The Jo'ar are stronger, fiercer than they
For they know that Jo'ar blood is staining the blades
Of those from the mountains.
The leader of the Jo'ar, named Valath
Knows of the great pains his people come through
While crossing the mountains to find greater pastures.
Valath has seen his land dry up, and no rain has fallen
For centuries passing.
But Brehin shall not allow the migration of Valath's starving people.
For these legendary pastures, overflowing with rich red grasses
Belong to his people, and to Brehin.
And no one shall run upon them but his people,
Until the stars shatter and the suns fall from the heavens.
Such is the vow that he has made unto them
And in life and in death, Brehin shall keep his vow.
The black skies so stained with blood and dispair
Over the heads of the proud Jo'ar turn even darker
With the shadow of a great and ominous foe
Even the therant trees quiver with unmistakeable fear
And their sibilant voices cry silently.
For the Great Kerid is here.
And do you think of the Jo'ar as panicking and scared,
With flanks heaving and tails tucked low to the palid soil,
Hearts beating with every breath drawn, every hoof scatt'ring
Parched green stone and lone hillock back to the dust whence it came?
Nay, my friend. You see what is never there for those of the Jo'ar.
They stand tall, tails whipping in the strong, stinking breath of the great mauve beast
But to little avail, the proud Jo'ar warriors fail to
Quell the hunger of the Great Kerid.
Many are made heroes, for much of their blood has broken the silent, dead sands.
May their spirits run upon the eternal starry fields, and those who come after remember.
And so it comes to pass that the Jo'ar are decimated by the Great Kerid
With only Sondar, son of Valath left alive, but wounded.
Not even half of his once great people have survived.
Sondar grieves for his many losses, as he makes his way through the terrible
Stench, the miasma of death and destruction.
He finds her dying, his life mate, beneath the silent, leafless trees.
A cry of dispair wells up to those blackened skies
As she speaks, then falters, the life fading from her stalk eyes.
(My love ... you must seek help and undo the wrongs that have
Stained the glory of our people.)
(How?) Sondar pleads, with a rush of sadness crushing his hearts,
(I cannot say. You must find it for yourself.)
She closes her eyes and ceases living.
Sondar stands alone, still as red stone
Always reliving and never forgiving
His people for whom he dishonoured
And the shame of his people so marred.
His knees buckle to the blackened ground.
And with an escaping groan
He feels himself dying from his wounds, both in body and in mind.
How the wind sighs over these two forms, caressing and blasting their fur,
As Sondar finds little will or reason to live, and so he dies.