Almost two years since we stood apart,
No longer the river-throat of that old draft.
Who would have thought that words could scar
More deeply than the wounds of war.

For bloodlust waits like steel in sheath,
Patient beneath the breath beneath.
It needs but a cause, a spark, a flame,
To call the blade against the name.

Yet still I'm glad our roads once crossed,
No step of that old road was lost.
I keep the laughter that we cast
Like embers rescued from the past.

They warm my hands on darker nights,
Like faithful logs in quiet lights.
And in my mind I still can see
The hidden paths you showed to me.

The secret places, silent, deep,
Where wandering thoughts are safe to keep.
Lessons spoken soft yet clear,
Still echo somewhere, year by year.

And our echoes deep inspired poetry,
Around campfires, fuelling our allies bravery.
Inspiring laughter, or sorrow drawn from breath,
Released like sharp arrows from the chest.

And should the world implode one day,
Then rise again from ash and clay,
I would not change a single thread
Of all the words we once had said.

For every crossing of our way
Is something time can't take away.

So once again, as years ascend,
I raise this toast to you, my friend:

Happy birthday, Krator!

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Glacian, in the year 999 AF.