If you want a good tale, Thorn says,
go for betrayal. Man and wife, brother
and brother, student and master.
The very one you trust—he flicks his hand
to show the knife. And so I am on the field
in false armor, not even knowing myself.
The grass, the sun, the banners, the sweat,
the fear. A man may be willing to die
for his friends, but for her? For him?
The queen in white, the field in green, dazzling
golden sun. The hopeful heart, the solemn
pledge: fire and sword, fear.