I asked them if they knew a lullaby. I missed the old songs. But my protectors had lived their lives as warriors in this bloody land, and they confessed to me that they knew no lullabies. The Daware man and Jun, all they knew were war songs. They knew the battle chants. The victory cries. The bloody verse of mercenaries over strong drinks, a lover on their lap. I told them that was fine. A war song would do. Just sing.
