The lonesome mourning of frijo
A mother mourns the loss of her son. The most wonderful man in
the world; light and shining, fair and beautiful as no other man.
Light blond hair, wonderful skyblue eyes and a skin so fair it
shines! Tall and handsome, strong and brave, perfect in all his
being. Now he is dead! Silent. Alone. Watching the lands and
others from a window up high in the clouds. Cold of sorrow,
exhausted by grief; the very little remaining life is fading
away. Too tired to move, too mournful to think of anything else
then her dead son. The others are preparing the defense of the
town, and her husband has left to find the avenger for the
killing. Nobody thinks of her, nobody has any time for her. She
is left alone, to mourn the death of her son.