Variations on Coda to Yellow Sky (Im/Perfect Dawn: Repeat)

death comes to us each with the face we have made for it. from the spyglass in the aerie of the monastery on the mountain, the flames of destruction have grown nearer each night, and now with dawn approaching beneath the new moon, the forces of the taflsmen march in a long narrow column up the lone road from the valley. waking early from a restless sleep, the quiet monk with the red hair begins wandering the halls where his ten brothers wait wrestling each with their own demons. does hope lumber heavily, does hope cast a long shadow? can the weight of a name transcend the body it signifies? conflicting impulses grasp at the strings of fate, tired heads hang heavy for want of halos, and every moment the sands of time drip slowly and irretrievably away...