the shortest of day has just begun and a solitary, smiling clown, uncloaked, and marched towards the Castle gate, the red right hand formed a fist and was raised towards the sky and stood a silent vigil until an arrow took his eye, a second snarling figure appeared and replaced the last and did the same and half a dozen arrows took him down, a third emerged from the undergrowth and took his stance, fist held high and laughed at the barrage of feather and flint that flew his way, A forth unfurled himself from a tree and jinked and ran until he stood upon his kith and kin, the sky turned black, the quivers sang, and all the while, unnoticed, a gang of orange haired urban artists tagged the doors with circus make up and dripping sprayed on graffitied words of war,
THIS IS A SIGN
Signed the clowns.