And ever on the fire burns into the night
Jan. 20th, 2004 01:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ithikaThe wild was there. In the cool dark depths of the place. Age and mystery awoken with the smell of fallen rain, and ever the shadows lit by starlight caress the mysteries of fallen days.
Golden eyes flash with power. Unafraid. Curious, but with purpose, an intense purpose that burns, burns burns all that it touches.
You stand in the small clearing, wet floor of the wild beneath your bear feet, breathing in the darkness. The cold dark of rain and dirt and the whispering of the woods, and ever the wind speaks to you.
There's something there, in the forest. In the wild. The Wild, perhaps, is what you feel. What it is you don't pretend to know. Or explain. It would fall on deaf ears.
You are content, being there, knowing that the Wild is awake, and you can still feel it, something deep in your soul.
Calling.
Golden eyes flash with power. Unafraid. Curious, but with purpose, an intense purpose that burns, burns burns all that it touches.
You stand in the small clearing, wet floor of the wild beneath your bear feet, breathing in the darkness. The cold dark of rain and dirt and the whispering of the woods, and ever the wind speaks to you.
There's something there, in the forest. In the wild. The Wild, perhaps, is what you feel. What it is you don't pretend to know. Or explain. It would fall on deaf ears.
You are content, being there, knowing that the Wild is awake, and you can still feel it, something deep in your soul.
Calling.