The young man gasped as he viewed the stones,

That were full of ancient charts and runes.

Locke couldn’t believe he made it here,

The only place on the sphere,

That could fix his life.

The noble slid off of his tired steed,

Patting the mare before feeling the need,

To scream his excitement to the world,

“I made it here!” Yelled the young earl.

And somebody heard his call.

A shadowy form soon appeared,

Growing opaque, much to Locke’s fear.

The figure shot him a smile,

And whispered, “Just for a while.”

Then left him alone.

Locke slowly looked around,

Missing the rune on the ground,

That spelled out his death.

He took an unwitting final breath,

Before falling silent.