The Ancient Forest

The sky overhead fades to black,
and the moon shines brightly down;
aside from the trickling of the stream,
there is not a sound.

But with the wind the trees do moan,
like a long lost tortured soul;
however the forest remains untouched,
protected by legends of old.

Legends of wolves, of Vyres and sprites,
haunting the ancient trees;
It's said you can hear their wicked cries,
echoed on the frozen breeze.

You've seen their eyes within the night,
heard the scratching of their claws;
you know their strengths, their weaknesses,
you know their every flaw.

But tonight they stay in the ancient woods,
Where darkness brings the cold;
protected by the foolish stories,
the mythic legends of old.