He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone. White his shroud as the mountain snow, Larded with sweet flowers Which bewept to the grave did go With true-love showers.
She stumbled a bit, and though she had only woken an hour before she felt very tired. She knew that her face was streaked with ash, and she wondered what color her eyes were now. She knew the watcher was there, and knew that he did not know that if he tried to stop her, it was one of the only ways that she could harm him
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