#His optimism and his keeping their spirits up like a kingly precession welcoming you back home

[recitedemise]

WAX POETIC.

Send 'wax poetic' for Gale to work some poetry; his muse is you: still accepting.

Not for the first time, Gale watches the sun wreathe that head like a gold-hewn garland. It would make Wyll stand nobler, shimmering him kingly like the grandest of keeps, and on the run of his skin, Gale feels the gentlest summer, the kindest morning, and the stroke of wind.

Of course. Wyll's presence, he decides, is like an inspiring tale. He watches him smile, heroic and heartening. When the Blade speaks alone, a soft timbre that'd spring like sun to lift the dark, it's like... to stand in the audience of sounding trumpets, silver with the banners that'd greet you home.

He can dare the foul with him. They march toward the Shadow lands. Yes, even the longest night is but a passing shadow beside you. You are the very stirring of dawns. I dare the dark to come.

Wylll's first to breach the wall of that wading penumbra. Gale follows not frightened, morning never far.