Least of my Kind
Covered in dirt and mud, aching and spitting blood Cursing, you start to rise and groan. Far off through field and fell mutters the Chapter bell: Never a Guardian falls alone
Chorus: Think on the battle’s cost; this time the Lancer lost Beaten and broken and blind. Better beware one more, better prepare for war: I was the least of my kind. Prying my arrows cold out of my fingers’ hold Pause to take stock, reflect and rue; Look on the damage done here by a single one What do you think a whole Lance will do?
Bury me where I fall, far from the Chapter’s Call; Slain in a fight I could not win; Nearby, Unconquered hear, heads turn with pricking ears Thought you, you fool, that I had no kin?