[Style: Traditional medieval bard ballad, solo male storyteller, gentle fingerpicked lute only, intimate campfire performance, no percussion, no choir, warm wooden acoustics, simple memorable melody, ancient folk storytelling] [Intro – spoken softly over gentle lute] Come closer... This Cat has a tale to tell. Of a merchant's daughter... Who became a lioness. [Verse 1 – gentle, warm storytelling] In marshes green where bright birds flew, Where jungle lilies grew, A merchant's child with curious eyes Watched every morning dew. She learned the names of herbs and roots, Of spices, stars and rain. She greeted strangers with a smile... Then waved goodbye again. [Verse 2 – slightly fuller melody] Her mother traded silks and spice, Her father walked beside. Their little shop held half the world... With wonder tucked inside. But peace is but a passing guest, And kingdoms seldom sleep. The drums of war found Mistmere's gates... And sorrow followed deep. [Chorus – memorable and singable] Oh sing... Of the Lioness of Mistmere. Where others ran, She chose to stand... Though every road knew fear. The storm may steal A roof above... The fire may take the field... But no cruel fate Can claim the heart Of one who bears a shield. [Verse 3 – quieter, reflective] Her father bought another dawn, And paid the final cost. She walked back through her broken home... To count what had been lost. She took no oath for fame or gold, Nor sought a hero's name. She simply swore that none again... Would suffer quite the same. [Lute Solo – slow, reflective fingerpicking] [A simple wandering melody, like footsteps through snow and memory.] [Verse 4 – slightly darker] A giant woke beyond the hills, Its footsteps split the stone. Five brave souls climbed the mountain path... One journeyed home... Alone. The winter wind still knows their names, Though few now speak them clear. Some burdens never leave the heart... They simply linger near. [Chorus – a little stronger] So sing... Of the Lioness of Mistmere. Though grief may weigh Like winter snow... She never disappeared. For courage is A quiet flame... It seldom seeks the light. It simply burns When hope grows cold... And stands against the night. [Outro – soft, almost spoken] Should you wander through Mistmere... Or pass the old eastern road... Raise your cup... For the merchant's daughter. Who became... The Lioness of Mistmere. [Lone lute plays a final gentle cadence.]
