Silence is the night,
Darkness is the forest,
Cold is the air.

A sound,
The rustle of the firs,
The glow of eyes in the trees,
The wind carries a lonely cry.

A shadow takes form,
It makes its way off,
But not before it is seen.

The sound on the wind is the call of the wolf.

The crackle of the underbrush is the ghost of her footsteps.

The glow is the magic in her bright eyes.

The wolf goes on her way,
Making as little sound as the breath of a fish.
She sings from afar,
To whomever may listen.

The huntress has moved on,
Doing what she does in her world.
She calls once more,
To those who listen:

I am here! I am here!