Blood dripped onto the green grass
He turned to his followers
“Tie me to the standing stone”
“Let me meet my death on my feet”.
The campfires grow dim,
He looks to the fading stars
His shield strapped to his arm
He nestles his spine against the cold hard rock
That it will pass onto him some of its strength.
His men leave the field of battle
Unwilling or unable to watch.
Dawn breaks the horde