“Where Courage Finds Its Sound”
***
He walks out front.
Not behind.
Not tucked safe in the ranks.
No shield.
No sword.
Just lungs full of fire
and a tune older than kings.
The pipes scream.
Not for ceremony—
for courage.
For the lads behind him
with blades in hand
and hearts thumping like war drums.
He plays through the smoke,
through the fear,
through the mud that grabs at boots
and the sky that spits iron.
Every note says:
We are still here.
Every breath says:
We do not kneel.
And when the clash comes—
steel on steel,
roar on roar—
he plays louder.
Because freedom needs a soundtrack,
and he’s the first to bleed it into the wind.