RUN

Run, little maiden, through shadowy forests as darkness is falling.

Peer past the trees in your flight, and you never once turn to look backward.

Else will the beast meet your gaze, having followed unseen in your footsteps.

Seek out a pathway that wanders, or tread where the tall grasses blacken.

Brambles entangle you; nettles are stinging and leaving you blistered.

Nothing has readied your senses for silence, then whispers and wingbeats.

Shivering grips you; the cold wind is frolicking close to your shoulders.

Both of your fists are drawn tight—not for striking, but held as your ramparts.

Run, little maiden, through tenebrous woodland, with never a respite.

Ghost-fires agleam are the eyes of the spirits, the heavens, the star-hosts.

Guideless yet nimble, you hasten; all traces are fading behind you.

Purpose and trial: your path crosses streams as it leads to the caverns.

Gloom of the evening conceals the beast crouched in the fathomless hollows.

Even the smallest of sounds carries terror; no shape is uncovered.

Alien principles govern a nature disclosing its powers.

Limitless, twisting, the roots split the soil as they travel beneath them.

Hidden from vision, they coil in the depths of the earth, still descending.

Everything lives under mystery’s shelter and nourishes fancy.