Shadows

Icy, cold air fills lungs like darkened arctic waters. Fear crawls from head to toe, incendiary flows of fathomless pain set sinews writhing. The tumultuous battle of mind over nothing, to nothing, toward not light, but a faint, desperate hope of even the faintest illumination. Moments are as endless eons of uncertainty growing. Long ago a resolve was borne through the depths of sadness, a determinate stance, set against the harbinger. Alas... little is to be gained, for it is as a dark stone seemingly immovable, that is tethered and rooted deep to the essence of the withering one. It is not a grip to be relinquished, but a brutal truth to be reconciled to. Though it seems to dissipate like a centurion storm, its resurgence is a certainty not to be disputed. And as always... A shade unknown, but known too well stands silent and near. Not for the pain, but for the fear itself does the traveler make its berth. Existence for both seems to hang on the nexus between both realms. The dark and the light. Where Shadows and Guardians war in chaotic radiance. The traveler is drawn, and in the drawing the ancient terror rises from within. A primal dissonance of unharmonious states. A broken hearted vagabond, seeks truth in dessicated wastelands, and the Thief sends a shade in the wake. Eternally the finites render this scene, a broken record of mirthless satyr, that decays and becomes the ashen remains of a fire long burnt out. But oh my Adonai! Turn not your face away forever, look upon brokenness and heal the scarred remains of the lone ethereal wolf, the warrior whose lot is yet to be cast.