It was a beautiful day — the kind of day that poets fumble to capture and painters curse themselves for never doing justice to .
The sun reigned high and proud in a sky so clear it seemed as if the heavens themselves had been polished for the occasion.
It poured its golden light onto the earth below with a king's magnanimity, shining not just as a celestial body, but as a star wanting to show that it was actually in fact a star.
By all accounts, today was a good day — not merely for the weather, but for the spirit of the people as well. For today marked the fulfillment of a promise, one that had been whispered through camps and taverns, across marketplaces and barracks for months: the day many in the Black Stripes would finally lay down their swords and shields and step into a new life under the sun.
