~.~

A hermit woodman, hunter, cave-dweller;
A singing minstrel of the mist, elusive, omniscient.
Hear ye, this legend of love.

Skillful even so he was, she lent him
Her mist, her shroud of life
That his hunts may end safely,
For the forest was full of wicked things.

Big and bigger he would hunt, aided by his maiden's magic.

One day he set mind to hunt longer
For his hubris bested him.
Uncloaked he marched for game;
Mistook her mist for wraith in his poisonous zeal.
His arrow flew, killing her.

Now her forest ever wails
And his arrow lies broken
And his maidens mist shields the woods no more.

~.~