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I walk where grass grows and the river reeds bend, With fox at my side, we walk like there is no end. I am a Druid yet only the winds know my name. In my silence, I hear the Song's never-ending hum, see the stars pulse like sound from a Shaman's drum. Each breath a reminder of the vow I have taken, remembering that perfection is not what I claim. My heart is that of the Dagda's cauldron of fire, intrigued by stories and inspired by those I admire. I commune with the owls in the moon's bright glow, I enjoy the frolicking of the squirrels when I awaken, Honoring the memories of those who were lost and came. I am the Buffalo of the Mists. I stand firm yet no longer need to roam, As with the Druids; I have found my home. I am the Buffalo of the Mists. Zenath, the Buffalo of the Mists | |