rom foul to fair

Milady, tis early morn and all around the world art awakening. Its predawn glory does little to assauge the crusty mood I find myself in though as I stood guard this night, enshrined in a moonlit chil, whilst this discarded rag of humanity slept at my feet. T'was a night of thoughtful reflection as I watched this wretch struggle for his very breath. T'would have been better to drag him from the glade, to distance myself from this worldly intrusion. But as I bent towards him his face was touched by moonlight and for the briefest moment I was riding a swell of remembrance.

There was the faintest glimmer of peace as he slept; as if all worldy cares had been brushed from his brow and whilst he was swaddled in this infantile innocence 'twas akin to standing guard over another bonnie, blue eyed boy. And whilst my younger brother's golden curls could ne'er be mistaken for this lanky, unwashed tangle of dark hair the words Asaph penned in the eighty second Psalm came once more to me:

    "Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked. They know not, neither will they understand; they walk on in darkness".

Mayhap, the Lord will do likewise to this undeserving servant. Or, perchance, He has. For in that moment Milady the wretch was transformed unto my mind - halting me in mid tilt. For when the High King touched his sword to my shoulder I became a defender of men such as this - the foul turned fair. Perhaps this has been a sign from God to remind me of where my duty lies. Thus I've stood a quiet vigil over him; to protect the innocent and the weak as my King hath commanded and as I am oathbound to do. But Milady now I am a-brim with concern for this poor soul. His sleep is scarred by nightmares; the taint of daemons haunt his nights as he whimpers the darkness away. It defies comprehension that our world could have fallen this far so as to wrack ones sleep so. My prayers and comforting touch have done aught to assuage this tormented slumber and ... ah. Milady, he stirs awake thus I must hurriedly doff this quill to tend his needs.

Until my words can grace these pages again I remain, as always, your unworthy servant.