You peer from the arrow loops and crenels of your citadel carefully constructed with ashlar of basalt, so cautiously guarding the gates and bastions.
Who are the sappers who venture near the murder holes? How do you distinguish the conscripts from the chevalier in the obsidian eventide? Are you waiting for one true champion to surmount the parapets and storm the keep? You lower the drawbridge and allow them to enter one at a time.
Spring forth from the inner ward, knock down the battlements, leap the moat, and delve into the meadows beyond.
Not every man-at-arms is a follower, and not every captain is a leader. Sometimes a humble bowman is found to possess the keen eye of a sniper, and his aim is true.
You can lay with and hope it advances fervor and ecstasy. Or, you can live passionately, be the arrow and the flame. Then love, making love, being love will follow.
Outside the fortress…