He left traces of his history, the pain and heartbreaks in each of his journeys. Tale tells the battles he fought with faith alone, yet he remained a ghost and his existence is unknown. His breathing faded as the air blew on his face, he knew for sure that he’d be crawling from this pit.
He buried his face underneath his torn armour, the sword he wields reeks of blood on his own. Despite him being exhausted and drenched from a warrior’s sweat. Ignored all the tears from cold nights that he wept, he walked through the darkness searching for himself.
Greeted by the townsmen he was applauded, but nobody cared to tender his plead of deep longings. Caged in his armour a brave yet dying wolf, that only in silence could bring himself to a truce. He served his people with safety and peace, without even knowing that he’d already forgotten about himself.
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