[ WP ] The Wandering Man is coming . It comes for all wizards and witches . Nobody knows when it comes , but when it does nobody escapes . Nobody but you .

He comes in with the storm clouds 
 wearing his cloak of many colors. 
 With a smile like the horned moon 
 he collects all sisters and brothers. 
 Dymati folk song 
 
 Rain fell and the bodies bloomed. 
 
 Scarlet lilies, columbine and roses lifted themselves out of trampled earth and broken limbs. Slowly they raised their heads in salutation, leaves all atremble. They covered the filth and mud, they covered the small bodies of Talia and Vesren in a bloody shroud. 
 
 I wipe the rain off my face and pull myself up before the roots and thorns can catch me. They would crack my ribs if they could, eat my marrow until there was nothing left. I stagger a little, my left foot giving out. I land by Talia ’ s upturned face, her eyes empty as windowpanes. 
 
 Gods. 
 
 I pull at the flowers covering her. They have already crept their way across the field. By nightfall no one would know how much blood was spilled, how the salt runes did nothing. 
 
 The petals burn my hands, they whisper his name in reverence. 
 I throw them to the wind, I spell-curse his name. 
 
 “ May iron bind his feet as he has bound my flesh. 
 Let every step he takes, bring him closer to me. 
 May he find no hearth, no help or rest. 
 Until the last drop of blood flows from me. ” 
 
 The rose thorns prick at my heels like an angry kitten. 
 Good. 
 Tell him. 
 
 I kiss Vesren ’ s hand, I close Talia ’ s empty eyes. 
 I have no time to bury my grandchildren. 
 The Wandering Man is coming. 

