Spawned by the dark heart of the wood, During the time of the alien world. I am a specter, Drifting from behind tree to tree, Hunting the creatures of the day. I am the wood wraith. To some I am just a passing breeze, A whisp of wind that rustles leaves. To others I am their darkest fears, A frightful presence ever looming. I wonder who is right. I may very well be just a shadow that will be gone tomorrow, Or I might be an incarnation of pure fear. One thing is clear, though, I am not like any of you.
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