'You shall not find your path here,
They follow your every trail in dust and dirt path alone.
Just take my words with you when you head north,
For that is the right direction.'
That is what the man had spoken of to me,
When I had stumbled into his towering shadow and sturdy pose.
I had forgotten to apologize as I was soon in a hurry from the Wolves.
I had owed him my life.
The pack of dogs with teeth glistening from one another's sparks of hunger in their eyes,
They would have caught me that day even through struggle in clawed soil,
With fingernails bloodied and attempts a hundred.
Mind you that it is not the creature of the woods that are named.
It is the men of Drift's Glade who are labeled with such fear.
Now I can but lay in this mudded and rotten den for the seasons to pass,
As I recall the first encounter every night,
Not by my choice though.
They found me.
But is only perverse that they would whisper my childhood memories as I whither in these chains.
-- I had only been playing among the trails with my younger brother,
In a game of him being a monster and I being the chased.
It was only until I had lost account of his replies in the forest prior to my childlike shouting,
That I had realized that is was his skin tissue stretched amongst the branches. --
