And tell me Chatelaine whether or not
that little dog that might have stood guard
over your virtue
had a loving hand to care for it
when all Burgundy wept for you.
The knight fallen through heart-ache and heart-split
and all the candles lit in Vergi chapel,
one grave for both the lovers
and another for the deceitful not-quite
stepmother,
who the Duke promised to hang.
Did he take you with him, little pup,
on his way to templar-dom,
or did they all leave you behind out of sorrow
till you became the wolf again
and haunted all Val-Du-Loup
like you should have done from the beginning?
Oh wolf-born one, howl for all who howl no longer.
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