The morning after...
At dawn he slipped out and down to the circle below. A lifetime ago, they had laid her to rest, and each year’s end her sons came to light their candles. Mama, he thought, cradling the flame. I’m sorry I’m late.
He breakfasted alone: his father already gone. Then he dressed and left for the front.
Later, he found the book in his pack. And each night after, until the final Night, he offered up his solitary prayer:
“Visit I beseech you, O Powers, my home and family, and drive far from us all the snares of the Enemy…”