Red
The sun sets, and the sky bleeds,
shadowing the crimson fields
of a battle not long done.
Dark figures stalk the dead,
hunting amidst the carrion.
The color drains, the sun sleeps,
and the moon awakes,
rrising from beyond,
bathed in a lurid haze.
A flame snaps, slashes at the sky,
tearing it with the blaze of fury,
consuming all, a ravenous beast.
And then, it passes, smoky ash the land it leaves.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Halitus, in the year 412 AD.