Brittle pebbles glide across the grass

As they hit boots The wind speaks of the coming storm

The grass shines in the dawn as if offering its morning dew to the elements

The rain beats against the branches making them damp and resilient

The frigid air bites at the skin causing fleeting feet and desire for warmth

This field calls for prayers

Guides people into their destiny

Talkers into vindicators

Thinkers into idealists

Watchers into consuls

Protectors into guardians

All into warriors

Brace your virtues

For all is left on this field

The vale does not suffer the living to pass without a price

Thus all who come into this field leave champions

Thus all who enter the midst of the green and dark temptress of vine and oak shall know peril

Thus all who dare gaze into the abyss with eyes as broken as the feet of the fallen that lay there

Thus all who smell the pungent scent of worth and purpose vibrating off the blades of green sheathed in the very soil

Thus all who hear the wisp of the night against the humming of the sage colored canvass

Thus all who taste the dry cut of the dirt that spews into the atmosphere

Thus all who feel the glow of the mist on their soul, the warmth of the sun on their lips, the chill of the stars in their spine

In this field we enter hollow knowing nothing but the desires in our minds that cloud our very existence

Out this field we leave with hope, that one day we will return as warriors and await our next task

We leave with hope