They entertain me near the fire side. I am not the only one who listens. 7 heartfelt raconteurs with bulbous bellies and smoker’s cough like PawPa’s. 7 who do not listen to the rest but are listened to. 7 drunken bards who never help around camp. From the beginning, we always needed them, and Alexi  says without them we would have fallen to the storm long ago.
Their power is secret. They keep morale higher than the number of people who are gone now. They laugh loud and they recant agilely and drown our sorrows and fight off our demons and their fight is everlasting. This is why they’re stronger.
Let one forget why they’re here, they’ll fold into oblivion like a book on a shelf, gathering dust as the years go on. Echo, Echo, Echo their fables as we walk into the darkness. They awake.
When I am too scared and too shaken to keep echoing, when I am a small speck against the dappled snow, then it is I listen for the raconteurs. When there is no life left to live in this storm. 7 who prevail despite the dark. 7 who lift the troops and do not forget to gleam. 7 whose only reason is for peace.