The fight was over, the armies of chaos were in shambles. The timely arrival of the forest elves had been instrumental in shattering the backbone of the hostile forces. The human knights had sallied forth from the castle and delt the last blow to the enemy, and now with their leaders down they had turned round and fled. The dak men were cut down like hay and still the pursuit was on. The free world would know peace once again, forf more than 10 years the war had taken its toll on the people and on the land, but finally it was ower. None of this mattered to Yanna. For Michael was dead. His body was still warm, the life blood still shone bright on the ground. His alst words wre but a few breath's awa. But he was dead. As the dust of the battle was slowly settling, Yanna lifted her face and felt the first tear streak down her face. Ignoring the burning sensation in her eyes she took up her voice and began the elven lament for the dead. War has no victors. --- I was 'ordered' to draw something sad but in a heroic way. Well here is the result. A semi-quicke scketch (1 hr) done in school.