life over death.
death over life.
light conquer darkness.
who flees from its might.
see the shadows.
of death quivering.
as the light of life.
burns bright within me.
see them flee and hide.
before the spark.
which erupted into flame.
thus born life.
life over death.
everytime.

.garnet stag let fulcrums shift muscled frame over terra, nails ringing hollowly upon battered land. small cresent indents mark the course of rustics passing, only to be lost in a sweep of breeze. dust billowed from the well worn path, opticals half lidded in protection. banner clamped down tight to quarters, visible hunch against the storm of flying dust. breeze passes, then dies away to nothingness. opticals left half shut for momentum, waiting for the dust to settle, then rapidly blink upon. halt, all four fulcrums braced, then vigorous shake, clouds of dirt rising from pelt like a cloak of muted brown. soft breeze tugs it away from once inhabited frame, billowing, seperarting, dying. pace resumed, steady four beat. hurrying was unecessary, he'd still get to where path was intended to take him. raised vocals on the wind, dial thrown up, auditives pricked, single fore raised. chronic was summoning the meadowians. sigh escaped from mute cavity, shoulders twist and path is now made toward the stolid ebony brute. what this time? more provocative speeches, maybe one to bolster the meadow. they always were. brute let knowing smile ghost its way across features. similar paths had self walked, only to gain despair. still, auditives flicked forward in favour of the raven hued brute, attentive expression lighting features. hmm, a harem raid to be laid against the meadow. seems likely, but who? definetly not the gulls, they were to busy being disorganised over the whole business of anathema and her crew trying to dethrone delirium. unsure if that was a worthy cause or not, though leaning in favour of anathema though, for perhaps newblood was needed. maybe thats what the meadow needed. not new leads, but just more new hawks in general. maybe a philosopher and another second in command would fill out their ranks more. thoughts refocused, vocalising time.

i commend you on your view chronic, though the thoughts torturing your mind torture mine as well. i agree, the hawks are but ducks sitting in the reids while the hunters close in. its not until we hear the click of the gun barrel being loaded do we realise we're in danger, and by that time its too late to group together and take off. remember gullshore? the ridiculed land of inactivity and misery. we're heading down the path of gullshore, don't let us reach the end. we've gone far enough as it is. now, this is directed to all. if your respective jobs, whether brood or scout, have not been played upon in the following manner in a week, watch out. i want all broods to be gravid with child by the end of the week, all to have either one long mock or two short mocks, all trainers to take in hand any foals, servants or broods wishing training, all scouts to assemble reports on each harem, to be handed in to myself, scarlett or nerfarious. all above the position of scout, if you wish to heed me, i would like us to help in all areas. come on people, we need this, hawkmeadow needs this. dont do it for me, dont do it for anybody, do it for yourselves and the lost glory of hawkmeadow we need to relcaim.

.pitch and volume had risen as the passion in ones speech deepened. this was a matter that brute for forcibly for, his whole being was consumed with the desire to better himself and his land. i live to serve, such a short sentence, so much meaning. indeed, in one way or another, they all lived to serve. the meadowians serving the meadow and their leads, the leads serving their meadow and their cadre. to die with the glory of being respected, dying for your country, or dying old, labelled a coward, the one who refused to fight for what they should have believed in. i know which one i'd rather be.

hawks, this i vow. i am the loyal hawk, i am served and i live to serve. i am dedicated to this land, to its people. i will die to fight for my meadow. and to quote my allie, krymsyn, i may not agree with what you say, but i will die to defend your right to say it. i will die to defend you as a hawk, i will die to defend the honour of being a hawk. i will die for the honour of the meadow, i will die for the meadows glory. i will die for you, for this land. i may be alone, but one life is a fair price for the honour, dignity, and glory of this land and its people. i value my life dearly, but for you, i will give it away.

.impassioned speach rang out with the sound of passion and truth. this was not some silly hoax that had taken hold of a fleeing mind. brute glared at any and all. he may stand alone in his decision to die for his land and his people, but maybe if he died for them, they would rebuild what they had lost in another. if they considered they had lost anything. rememberance to that day, long ago, in the woods of the falcon, his musing then. optical vague over a bit, as memory recalled. he had been threading ones way carefully between trees, round bushes and over tree roots, all determined to trip him up, knock him down and throttle him. strange, how todays society and heirachy seemed so akin to the wild unorthodox laws to nature, always seeking to unnerve you, to expose you. a never ending quest to knock you down the ladder, to step all over you and spit in your face. but that was life, and it was better to knock down than be knocked. that was how things were in hawkmeadow, in the whole of the thirteenth dimension. deal with it.

O^{nce a hawk, always a haw}K
^{Lord for Hawkmeadow}

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Tied with more than blood and oaths to
French Kiss, Shatter, Nevermind, Vorpal.
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Bound with naught but friendship to
Scarlett, Rosemary, Fartleque, Chronic
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Sire of Shiver, Eccentric, Pandemonium
Second in Command of Hawkmeadow
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For the honour and glory of the hawkS