[Hood and Hy-Jinx sitting in high back chairs, their feet bare, drinking soup]

Hood sits with his bare feet to the fire, his socks and boots slowly steaming on the hearth. Hi-jinx likewise positioned, a bowl of soup, rich and warm balanced on her lap, the soft tinkling of her bells gently sound out again as she dips her head to her spoon. Hood is feeling relaxed, his gaze lost amidst the large chunks of vegetables and meat that float in a thick nourishing gloop before him. The fire dries half of them and they swap seats to dry the other half, silently examining the room and its occupants. A slightly drunken farmer catches Hy-Jinx’s eye, staring at her until he works up enough courage to shout:

“Here Jester! Now that you’ve ‘ad a chance to dry out, how ‘bout a song?”

“Aye!”

“Aye a song!”

Others take up the call.

Hi-Jinx considers carefully the crowd before setting down her bowl and taking up her mandolin. She tunes it slowly, carefully, gently, the atmosphere responding accordingly until silence, except for the pop and squeak of the fire and the faint clatter of dishes from the back kitchen. With a confident and relaxed movement of the hand, Hy-Jinx plays a chord and begins to sing, her voice gathering up and capturing the attention of every soul present…

[Hy-Jinx standing in front of the fire, mandolin in hand, singing]

Two sides there were and none could tell

That each to the other would bring them hell

Two sides there were and none could know

The misery and the woe

The misery and the woe.

Some of the old timers nod their heads, aware of the ballad - The Battle of Burydead

Now each they had a grist to bear

And each would curse and each would swear

Their cause was right, their cause was true

Ah the misery and the woe.

At dawn just as the sun did rise

And flamed across the fields

The armies of both sides let cry

And drew their swords and raised their shields

And thus the rival factions met

Ten thousand strong in each

And hacked and chopped and swore and cursed

And bled and died and fed the earth.

But neither could the either breach.

Ah the misery and the woe

The misery and the woe.

All day they fought until at last

the final few remained

The evening fields now drenched in red

With blood and bones of all the dead

But even now, with heaving breaths,

Of hate they were not drained.

Of hate they were not drained.

They called the gods, they cursed their foes

They spat upon their hands

They clenched their fists and made to wish:

Their enemies from their lands

They went again to hack and slice

To meet their fate and roll the dice

They clashed again and three times thrice

Ah the misery and the woe

The misery and the woe.

The clouds they burst

The rain it fell to cause the butchered dead to swell

An awful sight, an awful smell

With not a soul alive to tell

Of the misery and the woe.

The misery and the woe.

A hundred years have passed since then and now a hundred more

The world has turned but we’ve not learnt the pointlessness of war

The dead beneath the fields still lie their fingers claw the soil

Their mouths agape as if to cry..

‘Oi! Love! Ain’t you not got something more cheery?”