Flamiro sat alone in his house, rocking backwards and forwards in his seat, teetering on the brink of the canyons of despair.
He stared in front of him, his eyes bright with grief as he drew in shuddering breaths, visible tears sliding down his whiskers as he drew a paw over his eyes, desperately striving to wipe away the emotional pain but it was to no avail.
It came to him in a midst of grief and tears, that maybe he had to let loose his feelings, let go of his consuming, abject depression. He had to sing.
His voice was hoarse with mourning and grief yet he rang out with a will, a will to let the memory of those killed and dead live on forever.
"War, swords, death, battle and murder,
all this is still an issue that is living and real.
I've used a sword but courage I have not seen,
and no one knows the tremendous torment that I feel, that I feel"
His voice quavered and shook but he sung to convey his emotions and despair to the silence of his house, to the silence of the streets and to the silence of the world.
He shook his head and uttered three words "Samaro... Samaro... Samaro!" The last word came out as a plea that would have shaken the very heart of Hades, so pitiful and distraught that it sounded.
"Our world consists of corruption, cruelty and greed,
innocent die and few shed many tears or pray,
And in the midst of friends I'm in a pit of despair,
and here is one thing that I must now say..."
He closed his eyes, bearing the very image of a bereft and tormented soul as from the very depths of his broken, battered and beating heart, he whispered in a voice of acceptance "Samaro..."

Parato, living in the house next to his friends, heard the song and could scarcely keep his eyes from shedding tears. He had known Samaro in his youth. It was a kind, lively and charming squirrel who so favoured his father who had perished from fever not long ago. It was an innocent, young and endearing soul who had been carried by angels to the glory of heaven.
Parato lit a candle with a trembling paw, sighing in pity for Flamiro.
"Ah... my good, dear friend. If only God would help you and all who perish under the harshness of poverty... ah, how I pity you. How I long to ease your pain and how I wish to be free from suspicion. I'm being followed, dear friend... and I like it not one bit" The loyal squirrel shook his head and sat down at his table, taking out a quill and parchment so as to write.
"If anything shall become of me, whether I vanish or so die, I hither proclaim that my dear friend, Flamiro, would receive all I possess and that those whose hearts are full of greed and cruelty should never gain anything that I have. If I die, so shall die the secret that has not ventured from my tongue and never shall do so. From within the flames of death, I shall cry out and urge the good of heart to take up and defeat those who oppress us"
This piece of writing he folded and proceeded to tuck it into his belt. On the spare bit of parchment he wrote down the very secret that everyone else was ignorant to. The very secret that held the downfall of the queen herself. The secret would not come from Parato's tongue but rather it would come from the very bark of a tree.
The squirrel hastened to rise from his chair and climbed up the stairs to his straw mattress that lay waiting for its idle master to lay his weary head.
Taking off his belt and cloak, Parato reclined upon his poor bed and fell into a sleep in which dreams of fire and dancing flames crept up behind his shut eyelids.