It is the quiet times, after the hunt and feast, that in turn eats at the warrior within.

He clutches a braid of hair in his hand dearly. Its is a short braid of bright red hair, plucked from his love.

It is the dark times, the cold times, in which he holds all those memories close. And they melt away the pain and suffering.

It is these memories that keep the demons at bay, slithering about in the crevices surrounding his Valley of Solitude.

The warrior, his armor never leaving his body, pulls himself into his small cave, sheltering himself from the wind and snow,

and curses all the voices that taunt him in the shadows. But as he drifts off to sleep, when possible, it is Her vision that puts him at ...

peace.