What do you think of my writings?

Gentle and sweet the whisper seeps in the forest so deep beyond where

the king of three winters grow in the forest so dark there lies a spark.

Can you hear the silenced lark?

Soft and tender is my step to the old woman who has wept for the things

she has not kept. The forest is unforgiving for those among the living

but there she sits at the singing spring defiant to her fears and still

can she hear?

Curious eyes watch in sorrow for none know what brings on the morrow.

I kneal in the fern in the moon's glow and feel the tear trickle below.

She cradles the warrior like a child deep within this forest so wild.

Limb to limb, root to root I dance but not once did our eyes meet to

chance. In the moss they search for what is lost, their way distorted

and amiss to find a place like this.

Rustle the leaves for my whispers are free. Her sobs tell of the soul

the gods have robbed, brave he must have been this warrior she cradles.

Silent feet lead me close within the shadows of her soul.

"You hear me dont you healer? What will cure his wound grows deep in

the thistle dew, take my hand for I am no different than you and I will

show you where they grow. Fear not for your warrior so bold and brave

for this place will not be his grave if you truly believe."