Anshi wheeled his mount around to search out the lone form on the battlement. Han was there, still, stiff, forlorn, and he watched as  Anshi spurred his horse toward the road before the palace. He listened as his Singer opened his throat in a parting gift. 

Anshi began his song in a low throbbing sob. It pulsed with desolation.

A new color has begun to obsess me

and I cannot resist its call.

Despite the deep brown sweetness

of cinnamon and chocolate ,

of brotherly golds and silvers,

Of motherly copper and amber,

I now prefer the calming gray of mist,

the turbulent gray of a storm

I will, in saddest vain, reach for

all of your sensual, softest grays,

that are parted forever from me,

beneath sad and secretive lids.

For I must travel alone once more,

and you must stay here on guard.

Your eyes have made me colorblind,

and I want it to last forever.

Tears rained Han's face as the crying voice continued.

A light, new scent has banished

old incense from my bedside burner.

The scent of tiny purple buds that sing

a lament for the awakening spring.

Lilac, the scent of eternal promise

of rebirth and renewal.

Surrendered freely, without expectation

of more that cannot be given.

The hope of richer, sunnier things gained,

All too quickly to be followed

by the foreboding of darkening petals,

and the fading fragile buds that fall.

A scent that will forever make me smile,

That will forever make me weep.

Then suddenly, an agonized and raw screaming, a cry from The Singer so piercing those that listened could hardly bear to hear without their own hearts breaking, cracked open the heavens as a demanding plea for release and explanation, rose in accusation to the gods...

How do we bear this unbearable loss?

Of the sweetest thing in a lifetime of loss?

Always forced by our cruel fate,

relentless duty, and demanding deities?

Must we be constant pawns ,

reaping karma from forgotten Lifetimes?

Eternally seeking forgiveness for sins

committed by others turned to dust?

Scratching hope from the muck of this life

Only to have it stolen from us?

A pause, deafening in its strangled silence, filled the air as he struggled to form their final song around a throat, closing in grief.

My Love...?

Exhausted at this point, Anshi was gasping for breath, striving to finish, in pain and almost spent. This wounded whisper, this ragged, "My Love'...was the hardest for Han to bear as he wept, leaning back against the cold, unyielding stone wall for support.

I wanted to pray you would forget me

but I find I have lost the will.

I only beg, please remember, as winter ends,

just a small part of me, when spring arrives.

And forgive me as I sin against you, and my heart."

Anshi then bent forward in a low and reverential bow, straightened, then rode from sight. And Han turned slowly and entered the palace walls once more.

A/N...Anshi: The Lost Eagle of the Steppes  Book One is completed. Planning Book Two and Three. The adventures of Anshi, the Caravan, and Minister Han will continue.

And remember my motto...

"Trust me."...if you dare.