Anson beside me, I looked at Lira as she layed upon the bed in the pavilion. I looked at the wreath of wild flowers in my hand and I set them on Lira's cold, white brow: a crown for her unseemly face.
The lament was sad behond words, revealing forgotten memories. I could feel the tears trickle down my cheeks as I remembered her kind forgiveness when I hesitated at the first attack, I remembered every smile, every delightful word that fell from her lips, her beautiful voice that sounded like rushing water. It did not seem fair that she should have died. She was such a beautiful elven lady who lived in a forest...at least, that's what I think she said.
When the song had finished -- though it still sung in my ears, like the lingering scent of rain after a shower, I leaned over the bed, and I took Lira's hand and stroked it. I traced her scar upon her face, and whispered, "Goodbye, Lira." Then I leaned over and kissed her on her smooth forehead.
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