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| His honour is timeless, stretching from sunrise to sunset like the memories of ancestors. His strength, a mountain fortress, shelter and protection from savage storm and sly poisen. His love is a robe of endless winter furs, deep enough for laughter. Soft enough for weakness and for tears to lose their sting. His will, the patriach. Hard and unyielding. Patient and understanding. The source of pleasure and of pain. Nurturing, guiding with right judgement and self control His spirit is the tree, straight and true. Whose roots are the foundation of the man. Whose branches bear the fruits of honour, love, strength and will. And I? I am the dove who seeks refuge from the hawks. I am the seed lost in the desert who longs to bloom. I am the heart, fragile and yielding held safe within the warrior's hand. |
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| The Warrior |
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