Where Shadows Dance: The Tale of the Abatiwa

Among the roots, where rivers run,
And tangled vines entwine the land,
There dwells a folk beneath the sun,
So small, yet strong—a nimble band.
The Abatiwa, ancient, wise,
With knowing hearts and watchful eyes.

Through forest deep and shadowed glen,
They slip unseen from sight and sound,
More silent than a whispered wind,
They make their homes beneath the ground.
Where daylight softens into shade,
In earthen halls, their lives are laid.

Beneath the leaves, beneath the fern,
They dance where golden fireflies roam,
In hidden rings they take their turn,
A secret world, a hidden home.
With nimble steps and laughter light,
They greet the stars that break the night.

With moss for beds and leaf for roof,
Their houses rise in patterns clear,
As branches arch in gentle proof
That no one larger wanders near.
They shape their world in shadows dim,
In tune with nature’s ancient hymn.

For who would think to look below,
When eyes are drawn to soaring skies?
And who could spot their movements slow,
With clever steps and deft disguise?
They walk the lines where shadows part,
Each step a whisper, breath a dart.

Their tales are shared by fire’s glow,
Of forest beasts, of rivers deep,
Of how the trees both sway and grow,
Of hidden dreams and secrets keep.
In stories rich, their wisdom dwells,
In leaves and stones, in ancient spells.

The owls above may watch and swoop,
But Abatiwa know to hide;
They tuck away in leafy stoop,
While branches part, and stars divide.
With careful steps, they leave no trace,
Invisible in forest’s lace.

The night will cast a shadowed light,
And in its arms, they dance and play,
So swift they vanish from our sight,
Yet leave a trace of silvered gray.
Some say it’s moonlight caught in dew,
But Abatiwa know it’s true.

They watch as rivers carve their path,
As stars spin slowly, skies grow dim;
They listen to the lightning’s wrath,
To thunder’s roar, and rain’s soft hymn.
For every leaf, each branch and root,
To them, a life, a song, a flute.

Through seasons old, through sun and rain,
They learn the ways of earth and sky,
They sense the weather’s twist and strain,
And feel the change as moons pass by.
With knowing hearts and watchful ways,
They mark the years, they count the days.

Some say if you should find a ring,
Of mushrooms set beneath a tree,
And listen close, you just might sing
With voices high and laughter free.
For there the Abatiwa hide,
Where wildflowers bloom far and wide.

Though larger folk may pass them by,
May walk unseeing through the wood,
The Abatiwa, low and spry,
Are wise in ways we never could.
They see the world from root to sky,
And live where only shadows lie.

They know each fox, each deer, each hare,
Each squirrel’s nest, each bird’s refrain,
And in their silence, they still share
The pulse of earth, the rhythm’s reign.
A hidden life, a forest lore,
Alive where light and shadow war.

In spring, they plant with careful hands,
In winter, rest beneath the frost;
Through summer’s heat and autumn’s lands,
They wander paths that none have crossed.
For in their world of tiny grace,
The seasons pass at steady pace.

So if you stray too far at dusk,
And feel a shiver, swift and strange,
Look closer, past the trees and husk,
For Abatiwa move and range.
A flash of color, blink of light—
They’re gone before you catch their sight.

Beneath the roots, beneath the loam,
They dwell where few would dare to roam.
In forest depths they make their home,
Where wild things live and grasses comb.
A quiet folk, unseen, unknown—
The Abatiwa guard their own.