In shadows deep where moon's pale glow doth wane,
the forest whispers secrets of the slain.
Beneath the boughs where ancient spirits dwell,
A dance of death, a tale no tongue shall tell.

Blood blooms like roses on the forest floor,
Where claws of beasts with eagerness explore.
Their eyes aglow with hunger's savage fire,
In twilight's grasp, they do never tire.

The greenery, a shroud for swift deeds untold,
raw, primal violence the soil doth behold.
Each leaf a witness, each branch a blade,
In this realm of power, where Life is made.

In silence, they stalk, in darkness they reign,
Nature's cruel symphony, a relentless refrain.
Through thicket and thorn, their fury unfurled,
In this sacred domain, the Cycle rules the world.

So heed this warning, traveler, if you dare
to enter these woods, we've no mercy to spare.
But do try your luck, a foolish display,
in Nature's theater, where Balance holds sway.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Sarapin, in the year 942 AF.