Ever since nations first quarreled, armies have fielded archers wherewith they rained death upon the enemy from afar. As the battle unfolded, however, the distinction between the lines of friend and foe would grow hazy. Yet the archer's part did not end there.
He had to stay ever alert, with arrow nocked and eyes trained upon the struggle.
Even as his comrades fell, turning the earth red with their blood, the archer could ill afford to avert his gaze, lest that moment cost another his life.
One need not have a vivid imagination to appreciate the torrent of emotions that raged within him in that moment.
Nerves near to fraying, his breast fit to burst, the archer did the only thing he could: he sang. His bow became a makeshift instrument, plucked as an accompaniment.
At first, the archer sang only to still the roiling within. But his voice chanced to carry to his comrades. It inspirited those engaged in combat, lending strength to their sword arms. And to those who lay upon the precipice of death, it granted a measure of peace.