Their banners lean.

Glint of moonlight
Colors spears a pale white
Bobbing to
This quiet tune.

Flags are stained red,
An approaching dread
Creeps on through,
Below view.

The gauntlet down.

Arrowheads of ice.

Painted herbs and spice
Black below their eyes,
Peering nerves unwracked,
Through stone wall cracks.

The scent of tense is left
Only on quiet breath

Before they move.

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