There is no End
A stag has fallen among our tribe, but I do not weep.
For in death we do not end.
We become the guides of the journey,
we become the keepers of the hearth.
We become the hand of reward,
We become the dealers of retribution.
We become the givers of wishes,
We become the muses of dreams.
In death, the flesh falls away,
and the spirit rises anew.
At the gates stand the ghosts of the fallen,
but there is no need to fear;
For beyond the gates lies not the land of the forgotton,
but the realm of the enlightened.