Fleetfoot: A Lore

Fleet of foot.
Out of sight.
Hidden whispers, a world of fright.
Fleet of foot, swallowed by night.

In a glade deep and green.
Guarded by forests dense and black.
Across a pond deep and still.
Up a steep rise, 'cross another hill.

A fleeing shape.
Colors regal, virgin, gleaming...
Lingering, watching.
Trouble brewing.
Over the hill, down the rise.

Crashing down, a gaping maw...
On and on, fleet feet..
Fight. Claw.
Dash. Twist.
A leaping bound.
Faster than deer or hell hound.

Across the pond, aerial dancer.
A cloven hoof to the dense loam.
It does answer.
Like a spring, it tosses her on.
Forward, onward.
Journeying on.

Through the forest, dense and black.
Gaping maw at her back.
Speed, a sole defense.
A verse of lore.
A legend, tense.

Hunted, hated...
A tapestry.
A horn.
Means unfair, cunning minds.

Seek to trap her.
To take her hide.
To shear the horn.
To mount the head.

On fleet foot.
Or they will see you dead.
Hoof touch, heart pound.
Bound and leap.
Chased the world 'round.

Gone is the glade.
Deep and green.
Gone be the forests dense and black.
But come the gaping maw, ever back.

Cloven hoof in the loam.
Across this earth,
Restless and alone I roam.
Hunted, hated...

Fleetfoot, I am.
Fleet of foot, I must be.
If my head and horn are to stay with me.
Such is the lore.
My lament, my song.


A storm bears down.
A bitter wind...
It comes still the great gaping maw.
It strikes out, lashing hard.
It draws close, within a yard…

Reaching deep, my heart does cry.
Fly, Fleetfoot.
Flee, fly.
Battle on.
Through the dense wood,
‘Cross the pools, deep and still.
It is your blood sought.
Your power, innocence, and will.

Onward, swiftly, the maw is creeping.
Pressing close, its breath chills.
Heels alight with power, speed.
A shimmering, shining burning need.
A need to live, a need to try.
This is not the way I die.

Pounding, pulsing a mighty heart.
Cloven hooves flying ov’r the green.
Onward, forward sight unseen.
Gift of speed.
Living art.
Gifted, glowing, shining bright.
Running feet carry me through this bitter night.

Meadows fade as mountains loom.
A precipitous, too close to the edge.
A brutal doom…
Skitter.  Scumble.  Crash.  Tumbling…
Stones protruded, breaking the ground.
The gaping maw, bearing down.
Bitterness.  Hatred.  Darkness bound.

A hoof catches, two, then three.
Now four feet are once again beneath thee.
Fly now.  Fly fast.
A herald comes, appears at last.
A whippet, swift and light.
Lifts its paw, joins my flight…

Glowing, gleaming. 
Dark of night.
The storm breaks, a demon fright.
Rain pounds, wind lashes.
Lightening strikes.
Trees to ashes…

Dark of night.
Of stars or moon,
There is no sight.
Yet still there shines a single light.
Deep in the primordial hills.
Fleetfoot,
She, who flees.
She, who flies.

Greyhound, whippet race with me.
‘Cross the meadows, down the gorge.
Past the fires of the forge…
Angels’ Tears.  Wisemen’s Fears.
A verse of lore.
A legend, tense.
A leaping bound.
Aerial dancer clears the final fence.

A horn of hunting, calls a blast.
Through the valley, long it lasts.
Across the mountain, through the fog.
Faster now, faster still.
Hell has released it dog.

Aerial dancer.
Fury and sound.
Lift your fleet feet from the ground.
Pelting, racing, hurtling ‘round.
Down the slope to the trees.
Bracken moss, ferns, weeds…

A horn of silver echoes.
Far too near…
Is there a way out of here.
Aerial dancer.
A leaping bound.
Flow like water through the mist…

Back into the forest, green and deep.
Return to the secrets that I keep.
Fleetfoot, I am.
Fleet of foot, I be.
They will never get the best of me.

Ford the stream.
Skirt the pond.
At this point, my heralds, gone.
Through the glade where life began.
Bound and twist to pierce the thicket.

Thorns and roses…
Trace a hide of pearl.
A gleaming skin.
A horn of gold.
A legend, tense.
A verse, a lore.
A tale of innocence…

Aerial dancer, nearly there.
Up the rise, to the glade.
Now does the fury of the storm abate.
Its angry spent, rain falls down.
Tears of regret, a wound unbound.
A betrayal, she finds at last.
Coming down the final slope.
The gaping maw, there upon the shore.
The ocean at its back, a roar.
Is there a future, she knows the past.

The silver horn once more blows.
Down the rise, the hunters flow.
Boiling, salving to claim their prize.
Fleetfoot, I am.
Fleet of foot, I be.
You will not lay hold of me.
Screaming, raging, she does flee.

To a place she should not be.
Fools follow, like sheep along her trail.
She will surely perish should this gamble fail.
Over the stones, greenery fades.
Flowers and ferns disappear.
Gravel skitters beneath her hooves.
Up ahead she knows what looms…

Memories rise, tendriled mist.
Out of the gloom, came a sense.
Foreboding.  Doom.
Fleetfoot knows this place.
Knows it well.
For this is where her mother fell.
A crystal tear, trails…falls.

A step forward.
A shiver of fright.
The hunters are coming, pressing tight.
The dogs of hell, they do howl.
Blood and drool.
Dripping jowls.
A broken path.
A jumble of stones.
A little jump and it appears.

A single bridge across a gorge.
Miles deep and meters wide.
Safety she knows, rests…
On the far side.
To this point her mother was driven.
A path from which she never returned.

The dogs catch of whiff on their prey.
A howl of death…
They do say…
Down the slope, to the stones.
Crushing, cracking…ancient bones.
Of cloven hooves and femurs light.
Of a unicorn, a legend…
Who once made this flight.

Fleetfoot reaches deep.
A heart pounding, weeping.
An unshakeable faith in her keeping.
Bounding, clattering…
Aerial Dancer.
‘Neath the bridge rest the answer.
To a riddle they have yet to ask.
Who felled the legend, making Fleetfoot the last?

Upon the planks, brittle and broken.
She places a foot, a token.
The dogs stop…
Snuffling, sniffing, nosing ‘round.
A strange scent upon the ground.
Down the ridge, ‘cross the rise.
Ever onward, a hunting cry.

Horses, saddled, draped and weary.
Surge closer, closer to the wary.
Fleetfoot touches.
Swift and leery.
The planks of that bridge.
Steps away from the weary…

A stone clatters, she prepares to flee.
Dogs charging, horses spurred and surging.
She needs no further urging.
Clattering, banging.
An unholy ruckus…
Rousts a beast, he who slew…
Fleetheart,
Leaving one, in the stead of two.

A flash of pearl, a scent of rain washed sunlight
Drifted down.
Up from his den he did crawl.
Hammer dragging.
Putrid stench.
Death and rags.
Trailing, raising like a tide.
A Troll…
Across the bridge…
Flew the gleaming, moonlight hide.

Fleet of foot.
Swift of mind.
She ran too fast to look behind.
A pained yowl, a savage growl.
The cracking of bones.
Shrieks of pain.
Now she knew the slaughter began.
Like her mother, so long ago.
Back down that path the hunters would never go.

One danger done.
A crisis averted.
One still loomed upon the shore.
Onward…Forward.
Cloven hooves drubbing…
Against the sand.
Against the stones.

Toward the beast that destroyed her home.
Songs rang out.
A righteous fury.
Earth.  Air. Water. Fire. Spirit.
A symphony of rage.
A tide of power.
Gathered close.
Voice of the White Tower.

Drubbing.  Rubbing.
An angry tide.
A righteous fury…
She did naught to hide.
Faster…Harder…Pulsing heart.
She ran as those the world were being torn apart.

Fleetfoot’s fury belonged to the maw.
The heart of darkness.
The Troll…the slaughter.
The hate, the bitterness…
A malignance bound.
At last, a long time coming.
She stood her ground.

The maw leered with lecherous greed.
When her blazing fury he did see.
Flying…Racing.
Her legs a blur.
Hide gleaming.
Tides of power rising.

The maw shifted, prepared to attack.
Aiming at her heart, her head, her back.
Heart. Mind. Soul.
Steal it…Consume it.
Never let it go.
Her power, her horn, and heart were his.
Greed, need…
A blinder in their own right.

A righteous fury rent the skies.
A tide of pain.
Wounded eyes.
Tears trailing.
Fae and Elves…
Together wailing…

A scream of anguish the heavens heard.
A cry that stilled the waves.
Hushed the wind.
Shook the graves.
The Lament of the Last Unicorn.


It rippled across the sky.
An ancient power.
A Voice that sang from the Tower.
Blind with rage Fleetfoot flew.
To her doom…
In her sight, with her death…
She was damning Two…

Earth. Air. Water. Fire. Spirit.
Echoing her cry.
Aid came…Answering her question.
Why?
A shadow, massive.
Winged and dark.
Soared in…A sweeping arc.
Talons spread, symphonies whirling.

The maw…
Blind with greed.
The shadow, it did not heed.
It launched its volleys.
Arrows. Spears. Burning darts.
Silver daggers aimed at her heart.

Dragon born. Dragon bred.
The mighty legend brought the maw to its knees.
Wings deflected the killing strikes.
Averted a disaster.
Stilled the cries.
A living shield.
A glory untouched.
A curse, a legend.
The whole world ‘round.

The maw, the demon.
Lay gasping upon the sand.
Trying to maintain its hold on her land.
Its hatred, bitterness, malignant form.
Rippled, wavered as she took aim.

Fleet feet gathered.
Power surged.
Horn positioned.
She began to run.
Faster, harder than ever before.
But not away.
Toward the demon on the shore.
Charging, slashing, gorging…
Until at last it breathed no more.

There upon that bloody shore.
Fleetfoot found she was not alone.
A Dragon born…With a soul.
An Echo to her aching heart.
No longer did she flee in fear.
She raced for joy.
A guarding Dragon ever near.




Echoes...echoes of the dead.
Pierce the bone...
A story said....
Starlight shimmer,
Gleam, glow...
Shadows dark, night heavy...

There, limed and muted...
Are the remains, a life commuted.
Shimmer, glinting bitter white,
Laced with gold...
The bones of a legend, slain...
Fleet of foot, great of heart...
Beloved and lamented,
Lost and gone...
A fractured art.

She was among the last...
Hunted.  Hated.  Unto the end.
Fleeing...Flying...Racing on...
Aerial dancer...A teacher was she...
A life she gave to save the legacy...
To protect the last.

A Troll's hammer...A massive pounding fist.
Shattered her bones, bore her down...
From the bones flesh was rent...
Fey...all...the bloody air.
The heart of a mother,
This Troll did take...
Twisting, wrenching, bleeding dry.

From the thicket...dense and lush.
A foal, all legs and gamble, she did watch.
A brutal slaying before her eyes...
A horn of gold...incandescent,
An ancient glory...
Stolen away.

Her mother gone...
Silver blood stained the earth.
A seed, a sprout...
The first hints of courage,
Of rage began to flower...
In that, her mother's final hour.

No protect, love gone...
Stripped down, laid bare...
There was nothing left.
She could not stay...
Fleetfoot...Aerial dancer.
Fleetheart had given her the answer.

Flee, baby...Fly fast...Fly far...
A wound laid open to become a scar.
So, away she ran…
Swift and hard…
Agony clawing at her heart.
Tears she hid…
An icy shield.
Fleet of foot.
Her life she would not yield.

For countless years she raced alone.
Fleeting…fleeing…flying on.
Over hill and down the glade.
A glint of moonlight, cloven hoof.
Fleetfoot…Aerial dancer.
Ran, ran, ran…
‘Cross the lands…Seeking.
Seeking…Always searching.
An answer to a splintered thought.

Ages passed, her forest grew…
Dense.  Primordial.
Foliage so thick there was no trace of blue.
And with the night she lit the way.
Through the trees.
Ancient, guarding.
Again her quest began.
One foot…fleeting.
Two feet…bound.
Three feet…gather.
Four feet…leaping.
Aerial dancer.
Onward.
Onward.
Where is the answer?

One hoof touches.
Bitter ground…A land.
Destroyed…
Withered ‘neath a goblin’s hand.
Dirt and sand,
Drift and blow.
A scent of blood. 
The remains of war.
Corpses litter a skeletal forest floor.

Of men and goblins and trolls.
The stench of a harpy…
A thousand motionless blades.
Tarnish.  Soot. 
Empty hands.
Tattered arrows, fallen slings.
Spears and armour.
Everything gone.
Water…hope…moving on.

From the carnage she did run.
Shining like a pearl in the sun.
Bloody sky…tinted her hide.
But among the ghosts,
And heroes gone.
A tickle of recognition.
A familiar face.
The first trace…
A heart rent…A stolen horn…

Fleetheart’s horn…Her soul.
Trapped…her power…in the horn.
There are no curses…
In the tongues,
Mortal. Fae. Elven. Beast.
To convey the anguish of the Last.

This was her answer…
And oh…
How she wished it away.
This was a secret she could not bear.
A secret no fire would vanquish.
Hell had found her.
The missing horn.
Running.  Raging.
Last of the Unicorn.

Aeons.  Ages.
She fled from hell.
As fleet and agile as her name.
Fleetfoot.
Swift feet, swifter mind.
Sweeping.  Leaping.
Never look behind.
Always a horizon.
Looming.
Over the continents.
Mountains…Forests…Plains.

Kingdoms rose.
Kingdoms died.
Seasons came.
Snow fell.
Birds sang.
Bells of lazy summer struck.
Ringing of a silver horn.
A party of hunters…press their luck…

Fury fed her cloven stride.
Pain and anguish
An icy, massive shield did hide.
A purpose undone…
Fueled the great, pounding heart.
Aerial dancer.
Swift and true.
What, sweet baby, has the world done to you?

Silver horn…They heed your call.
Swift and sure.
She did not fall.
One foot…fleeting.
Two feet…bound.
Three feet…gather.
Four feet…leaping.
Aerial dancer.
Onward.
Forward.
Bitter ground.


A pack. 
A hunt.
Tearing down.
Horses…
Four hooves like her.
Pressed close, following her trail.
But their ambition was doomed to fail.

Four legs and hooves…
There may be,
But cloven feet.
Swift and sharp.
Cling to land.
Skirt the stones.
Spring and fly across the loam.

To the edge of the land.
‘Til it rolled no more.
A great gaping gorge.
At its base, a demon’s forge.
To the edge.
Pounding heart.
To the edge.
Fleetfoot raced.
Knowing hunters never cease to chase.


One foot…fleeting.
Two feet…bound.
Three feet…gather.
Four feet…leaping.
Aerial dancer
Escaped the hounds.

Stretching long, reaching far.
Whippet thin…
A flying form.
Dying sun, end of day.
Set her glittering hide
Aflame.

Fire and glory.
In the wind.
A scent of rain.
Of ancient power.
Drifted down on a breeze.
Carried to the demon’s forge.

The beast looked up.
Saw the soaring, arching form.
He knew the legends of the horn.
As hunters, horses, hounds…
Plunged
Heels ov’r head to their doom.
A new pursuit was about to resume.

The great gaping maw rose.
Well…swelling,
Like a tide…
A malignance born.
Another coveter,
Of the last remaining horn.

Fleetfoot…Flee.
Aerial dancer.
A foe, discovered…
You can no shake.
Run, sweet baby…
Flee…
Farther, faster, harder.
Pressing hooves.
Pounding heart.
Keep in the lee of the demon’s wake…

Courage waning…Legs weary.
Where is the driving fury?
The purpose, the passion?
Running…Racing…Hurtling on.
Ever onward.
To the dawn.

Alone.  Silent.
The cries stilled.
The shield holds.
Arctic bound.
The voice of truth.
Fades away.
The gaping maw heads this way.

Fleetfoot veers…
Twisting ‘round.
A single tear hits the ground.
The silence…A void.
Screaming loudly.
Echoing…Howling.
In her heart.

She turns…
Heading for the glade
The gorge…
The bridge that tore her world
Apart.
One foot…fleeting.
Two feet…bound.
Three feet…gather.
Four feet…leaping.
Aerial dancer.

The silence raging.
Heart and mind and horn and soul.
The answer…the evasion.
How much faster can she go?
Pounding. Bounding.
Skitter and fly.
Pebbles thrown into the sky.

Stars gone…Moon taken.
Hers is a world forsaken.
Cloven hoof against the ground.
Silent screaming.
Echo bound.
In the bones.
In the blood.
Fleeting…fleeing.
Ever onward.
Gaping maw at her back.

This tale told once before...
Across the land.
Pierce the glade...
Aerial dancer
Twist. Flee. Evade.
To the shore.
To the bridge.

Hounds of hell upon your heels.
Grace and power.
Scars and eels.
A gamble she made,
The ultimate price she nearly paid.
To the troll the hunters fell,
He in possession of Fleetheart's spell.

To save her life she paid the toll.
Mortal flesh did gorge the troll.
Man and horse and dog and Beast.
To the troll a mighty feast.
One foot...fleeting.
Two feet... bound.
Three feet...gather.
Four feet...leaping.

Aerial dancer.
One foot...touching.
Two feet...leading.
Three feet...clinging.
Four feet...climbing.
Aerial dancer...One heart weeping.
A tormented soul,
Justice seeking.

The maw she faced the day...
But from the gluttonous troll
She turned, fled away...
Fleetheart's legacy...
Fleetfoot's heart cried.
'Please don't leave me.'
'Hold back the tide...'

The songs of dragons.
And verses of elves.
The glamours of the fae...
The lament of the mortal selves.
She knew them all.
Word and thought.
Deed and line.
But the lost, stolen horn she,
Fleetfoot,
Could not find...

This failed task,
A splintered thought...
Time passed on, skirting 'cross the world again.
Scars patched the tattered heart.
Wounds inflicted by the maw,
Disappeared, healed...
But for nought.
The missing horn still made her ask.

'How do you save a stolen soul?'
'How by the stars above do you let go?'
The voice of the dragon,
Her guardian art.
Provided the answer in his heart.
But the truth is often a bitter brew.
No way around....for the soul,
The power of Fleetheart remained bound.

A tide of darkness from beneath that bridge.
A union with the Goblin King, Eroc,
The Troll, Sacorum, did forge...
It was this alliance....
A massive, seething horde
That was an army...
Driven, seeking...
The Last Horn.

Another hunt.
Another run.
Done with fleeing.
Flying down...
This was the tipping point.
Fleetfoot knew she could not yield ground.
For to a child, fragile and fair, she was bound.


The Family of the White Tower.
Saw...knew.
Eyes bright.
A child's gaze, looked out upon the darkening days.
The forests withered.
Flowers faded, crumbled , died...
Beside the brook once clear and bright....
Tripping, tumbling
Ov'r the stones.
There she saw a glint, the glow of gold.
Ancient, forgotten...
Muddied and broken,
Lay the bones...

Elven child, dark and fair.
Eyes of violet, hair of night.
Saw the femur...
Swift and light.
Through the water, plants and silt.
There upon the shore she knelt.
Pulled the forgotten relic free...
As the bone, it touched her hand...
Oh...fey all...a cry...
Fleetheart's call.
Shook the graves.
Rattled the land.

Tears of agony...Dreams torn.
Fey...any and all...
Who slew this unicorn...
Here was the answer.
Eyes of violet, tearsoaked, bright...
Lifted...pleading.
This was the reason...
The fading flowers.
The dying, crying hope.

The White Tower,
A power, a secret keeping....
Coming, rushing like a tide.
An army thousands deep and wide.
Goblins, trolls, orcs, and maw.
Fleetheart's Horn at the fore.
Against the White Tower,
They do march.
To burn the Elven banner from the arch.

A lone outpost this remains...
But the future bleak as night.
Set upon that elven child's sight.
Death and pain miles wide.
From the heart of the forest to the edge of the tide.
Burning...bleeding
A charred and smoking ruin.
No tears, no hope
For without the horn...
This once lush land will fall.
For Sacorum will destroy it all.

The elven princess, dark and fair
Clenched slender fingers in her hair.
A question choking in her throat.
'Why against the Tower do they march?'
'Steeped in glory and ancient power, not once,'
'In the ages of immortals did we cower.'
Then the child, the elven flower.
Knew the secret of the Tower.

From the ghostly wail of the unicorn bound,
Came an realization that split the sky.
The little princess, small and fragile,
Knew the verse, knew the tale.
The Last Horn they were seeking.
Fleetfoot, she, was in the princess’s keeping.
A rumble of thunder shook the walls.
Brought stones of the Tower’s parapets,
Crashing down.

Up from the gorge,
The heart of the Troll’s burning forge,
Spewing forth a tide of darkness.
From glade to mountain to palace to wilderness.
On and on,
It did flow, boiling, seeping.
Penetrating, creeping.
Seeking, seeking…
Killing…Eating.
Huddled, frightened, alone and weeping.
Elven child, dark and fair.
Pulled a flute from her hair.

To ashen lips the pipe was raised.
The a voice sweet, clear, dark...
Sang...sing...swing
Through the air.
Cleaving the nightmare,
Those bleak and bitter days.
To the stars, the clouds, the moon...

The call rang out.
Summoning all.
To the White Tower
Foot and fist and arm and paw...
Holding firm against,
Troll and goblin and demon and maw...
The horns raised a clarion voice.
The drums of war poured forth,
From every window, every door...

Elven princess,
Dark and fair,
Returned her flute 'neath her hair.
To her feet, bone in hand...
To the palace, to her room....
In the shadows, in the gloom
That elven princess,
Dark and fair,
Took a silver blade...
Cut her long, flowing hair...
Boots and breechs,
A linen blouse, jabot, and vest...
Replaced the dress...
A cloak of velvet,
Dark and heavy,
Had long been kept at the ready...

A whisper of breath...
The candle dies...
A curtain flutters, flitters, flies.
Night settles, heavy and dank.
Down the vine, 'cross the rise, down a slope to the bank.
A little figure, ragged and worn.
Bore the bone...
Followed the song of the horn...
Boots of leather, swift and light,
Made no sound as the wearer passed through the night.

The scent of smoke, of thunder, of blood...
Hung, a dense and heavy  cloud.
'Cross meadows, past valleys, glaciers and gullies...
Onward, forward
Went the steps of the young wayfarer...
The glittering of a flute,
Warm and bright,
Showed the way through the night.
Forward, onward.
Song. Voice. Verse. Need.

From the forest to the shore...
To a cave and a secret, dark.
A princess of the Elves was she,
But only half their blood did she possess.
Fey...all...her inky curls...and raven's eyes.
Her mother did lament.
No golden hair, nor eyes of blue.
Oh she cried of a child, heaven sent.
Unto her father, she did go...
To find the lore,
She had to know.

A wave of heat.
Water. Fire. Earth. Air.
Tugged, pulled at her shorn, ebony hair.
Over the dripping stones.
Beyond the shrieking gulls.
Into the deep quiet of the cave.
Into silence's lull.

Through the wards, to the door....
On and on,
Twisting down went the corridor.
Jewels,
Rough, raw, unhewn, fractal.
Studded the walls,
Lit the way.
The princess's steps, they did not tarry.
For she knew time was short.
So into the chasm she did press,
A unicorn bone clutched to her chest.

Down...down...down.
Beyond the cavern, through the door...
Into the bowels of the earth,
Where to the blood of magma flowed,
Next to veins laced with gold....
Here in the world away from the light....
Dwelled the legend of tales, old.
He, whose blood was half of hers.
Elven princess, dark and fair...
Sought the dragon in his lair.

There in a land of elements raw,
And vegetation, lush...
She stood waiting, watching...
Each breath, hushed...
Water...
Cold and clear and bright.
Reflected a haggard, bedraggled wayfarer to his sight.

Her mother's feature, angel perfect...
But the coloring of the dragon born,
Shone in the inky hair and violet eyes.
The snowy skin and bird light bones.
Small and spare,
Swift and light,
She was a child born for flight...
Running...Flying...Soaring high.
She, this elven princess, dark and fair.
Was the daughter of the air.

From the stars...
Beloved by the moon.
A life...had it not been for the last remaining unicorn...done too soon.
Fleetfoot...
She, who flees.
She, who flies.
Spared a life.
Healed, she who should have died.
Now the black, encroaching tide...
Called to all,
Of courage, skill, and pride.
And this princess, fragile and protected...
Answered the cry that inflamed her blood.

The call to arms.
The call to war.
Brought her down through his door.
Now here she stood,
Head hanging, feet weary,
Her glittering gaze fixed upon the floor.
To her chest she clutched a prized.
White and glowing,
Shot with gold...

To the dragon, beneath her father's eyes...
Did she finally voice,
Her lament, her cries...
A silver bell, a baby's laugh...
With these gifts, she spoke.
'A demon tide is bearing down.'
'Seeking, hunting, the Elven crown.'
'They come with fire, blades and hate.'
'They come gnawing, hacking, burning...'
'Upon our gates they are churning.'

'The blood of a thousand innocent lands stains,
Their boots, blades and mouths.
The blood of the maw drives their frenzy...
The fallen master....
Seeks revenge.
Seeks the horn....
That slew him upon this very shore.
Sacorum and Eroc...
Are naught but puppets in a greater whole.
Figureheads of the encroaching horde.
Nothing stands between this dark tide,
And the White Tower...
Except me...'

'You?'
A voice, ancient and gruff, did reply.
Elven princess, dark and fair...
Lifted her head, shook back her hair...
'Me.'
Her gaze was black,
Dark and feral.
A laugh like a great blast of brass,
Met this reply...This spark of courage.
'A girl, little more than a child...
Fragile and light as glass...
Would stand before me,
And demand an answer,
That and more?'

'That and more.
The lore you keep,
I need to know.
To war the White Tower rides
To death, to doom, to the ending...
Of this bleak and bloody battle.
With them I ride.
To war I go...
From my fate, I will not hide.
To blow the horn.
To heft a blade.
To bleed a demon.
To bring them hell.
To save the horn.
The destiny, the fate...
From which I was guarded.

The lore you keep,
The story I seek.
Blood to blood.
Bone to stone.
One foot...fleeting.
Two feet...bound.
Three feet...gather.
Four feet...leaping.
I demand the answer.
I found the bone...
I have seen the tide.
No turning back. 
No place to hide...

'Blood...talons...fire...pride.
You stand before for me,
Eyes and heart ablaze.
In these,
Bitter, bleak,
Darkening days.
You are spitting fire,
Ready to wage a war...
Blade drawn,
Banner of the White Tower at the fore.
Down the hill, 'cross the rise...
Ov'r the stone, unto the skies..

One foot...fleeting.
Two feet...bound.
Three feet...gather.
Four feet...leaping.
Shift and swirl.
Smoke and pearl...
Vapor. Mist. Fog. Cloud.
Out from the shadows.
From beneath the shroud.
One stroke...two...three...four.
To wing.  To arms.  To the skies.  To war.'

The mighty dragon lord rose...
Blade in hand.
A rapier.
Ageless, polished, gleaming.
His voice was soft.
Smoky, alluring.
'This sword, this simple tool...
Is the key to preventing,
Sacorum's rule.
With the bone in its hilt.
Power and speed...
Grace imbued,
In the heat of battle,
Its wielder will not wilt.'

Elven princess, dark and fair.
Weary wayfarer, of shorn hair...
With the blade.
With the bone.
Clad in armor
Heart shielded in stone.
Down the rise.
To glade...
To the bridge...
To the forge.
Bring the armies of the White Tower to the gorge.

Elven princess, fair and dark...
Took the bone clutched to her heart,
To her father, to the dragon,
She gave that femur,
Swift and light.
Into the hilt...
Into the blade...
Went that glittering, glowing bone.
Into her hand that blade,
The dragon lord did place...
Into the sword,
Was borne the power of the last line of unicorn...

'Go now...'
The words of that ancient being,
Gritted and rough.
'Return to the shore,
To the Tower,
The armies waiting...
Show the doubters beneath the enemies' banner.
Your power, your true face.

Across the green mossed loam,
Fleet feet flying,
Running, tearing down.
Through the mist.
The fog.
The night.
Cloven hoof, dancer's stride.

One foot...fleeting.
Two feet...bound.
Three feet...gather.
Four feet...leaping.
Aerial dancer.
Heed.  Heed.  Heed.
That ringing, echoing sound.

A horn.  A horn.
A singing, ringing call.
But not of silver...
Of brass or of tin...
This was a voice,
That sang, rang...
Roared above the din.
This was a horn...
A horn of gold.

A horn of gold.
Glowing white in the sun.
The echoes of war.
Of her deed, as yet, undone.
The call to war.
To the White Tower.
To death.  To doom.  To fate.

Fleet feet flying...
Gathering, twisting 'round...
Across the loam.
A famous fleeing shape.
Colors regal, virgin, gleaming.
A cloven hoof...once more,
To the dense loam.
It does answer.
Like a spring, tightly wound,
It tosses her on.

The wind howls down the valley,
Ov'r the rise.
Baring dust, withered leaves,
A child's cries...
Ov'r the mountains to her glade...
Far afield from,
The Bridge of Sacorum.
The vale of her birth,
Her mother's massive, brutal demise.

The Horn of War.
The War of the Horn.
It has begun.
The bone.  The blade.
The silver, inlaid.
A blood debt, incurred.
Dark tide rising.
A call, a fire in her blood.
Time..
Ages, aeons...
At long last she will return.

One foot...planted.
Two feet...gathered.
Three feet...turning.
Four feet....leading.
Drubbing, rubbing.
Racing down.
Loam flinging, feet flying.

East to the newborn sun.
East to the dying,
Star of morning.
To the mountains.
Back to the gorge.
Once more...
A legend, tense.
Set out...
Cleared a final fence.

Into the wilds, the heart of her wood.
Fleetfoot flew...
A fluid, dancer's stride.
A rhythm...smooth as silk.
Her mother's greatest pride.
Faster than hind,
Hell and wind.
Her tormented foal
Was the fastest.

Now.  Now.  Now.
Oh, how...
That gift was needed now.
Cloven stride, striking fast.
Slinging stones and silt,
As she, Fleetfoot, flew.

One foot...touching.
Two feet...leading.
Three feet...clinging.
Four feet...climbing.
Aerial dancer.
Up from the valley.
Up from the glade.
Away from the lake.
From that well loved shore.

To the forest.
To the trees, olden guardians.
Keepers of lore.
To the river,
Mighty and sweeping.
West. Westward. West.
Down from the mountains,
Making for the dying sun,
Its course did run.
Back.  Back.  Back.
To the roots.
To its source, she was bound.

One foot...clinging.
Two feet...climbing.
Three feet...reaching.
Four feet...leaping.
Upward. Away.
Out of the green dark gloom.
Away from the woods.
Away from the trees.
Away from the pools,
Ponds and decaying leaves.