Innocence is for the young, shielded by the roofs held upon the shoulders of their elders. And when they come of age, they help to hold that burden and keep the youngest safe and dry from storms.
Though my shoulders may grow weary, so comes my purpose to grant strength. We stand as undivided with our strength without question. From blood of ancient times tied to land and clan, our own stories may be different, but no less locked together.
The storms are always vicious, the stories are inevitable. But unlike the honest violence, the stories can change over time. For by their very nature they are not the views of all that was, but the dreams of memory of those who wish themselves to be more or less.
Yet with every breath still taken, so long as the heart beats, we stand to hold that roof above so we know the young will sleep. But the roof is a shield in hand, and the storm those who would take our land. Without fear or hesitation, we stand with arms and shields locked.
As stars they should be remembered. Not as distant lights untouched or blocked by clouds, but a call to all who follow. An echo of the thunder, that they might not have died for nought but teach their blood the value of the fight.
We remember those who fought and sacrificed for us so we might sleep and dream without fear in the days of our own youth. We know full well why we fight, and for our blood do so with pride.