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 in the freezing 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,
By the mythic legends of old.