Woods of Shadow
Many have been those that find themselves, along a new road in the middle of the Wood. Many times have we heard this tale, yet not quite like this. While most dare seek a door, a gate, perchance to seek; we find this young dove looking up, rather than looking down. She sits perched beside the leaf, no roads be here, that much is assured. She looks up, a half Moon guides her nightly journey. As White as Silk are her wings, and feathers that Queens would sell, for entire nations. Our dove sits softly on a tree, half dead, with little life. As she coo's softly, as an Owl, as a Prey; her eyes turn a deep red, and wings begin to rise. As the first flutter, the tree springs to life; slowly returning to its Half Moon beauty. The Leaves grow first, follow by intense branches; worms and centipedes escape its hollow husk, as the bark is made anew. Our dove now turns Black, darker than the shadow beneath it, all a quiver in this Half Moon Light. She jumps, dives as a Hawk and as wide as an Owl; from Dove to Huntress, she dives; as her Tree comes to Life. And in Life, not brings the Wood to gleam; underneath this lovely Moon by Half.