Not farewell —
but salute.

You walked proud,
you stood unbroken,
even when wheels struck
and bones ached.

You chose your place,
by the food,
by the car,
by the path to the bar —
queen of small kingdoms,
ruler of simple joys.

You grazed like a cow,
you dug like the ancients,
seeking earth’s cool breath,
seeking your den.
Instinct alive,
spirit fierce.

When pain came,
you gave no cry.
When hands lifted you,
you trusted.
When the road called,
you looked once,
and with your eyes you said:
Thank you.

And then the song rose,
Helvegen carried you,
not into silence,
but into feast,
into firelight,
into Valhalla’s hall —
where warriors wait,
and shadows turn to queens.

Your name was secret to many,
but known to you,
and true to its weight:
Llolth — Queen of Shadows.
Feared in myth,
loved in life,
saluted in death.

But more than myth,
you were my turning —
the reason I rose
from ruin to man.
Spain gave me you,
and you gave me
responsibility,
steadiness,
and change.

I carry that forward.
It does not die.
It is your legacy in me.

And I, who stroked you to the end,
will never forget
how your eyes spoke last —
not pain, not fear,
but mercy’s truth:
Thank you.