by Arod
When the Inquisitors exiled me
I was my Father's fifth son--
Charged by tradition to be a scholar
To know the forbidden tongue
To know our true past
To keep our family history sacred.
When I awoke on Puddleby's beach
I was my Father's fifth son--
Charged by tradition to give way to my elders
To hunt only by their leave
To take a junior daughter as my mate
To live a quiet life teaching secrets.
When I took the healer's stone
I was my Father's fifth son--
Charged by tradition to keep the faith
To heal shut bloody slashes
To soothe black bruises
To straighten splintered bones.
When all my flesh burned away
My Father's fifth son died--
Taintless, I was charged
To grow strong in the way of the sword
To cut the life out of my enemies
To live with no past, no morrow.
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