A Traveler Lost
A traveler lost in the darkest of wood
Bereft of the path where he knows he once stood.
The beasts looming in, yet in this wood of Eyre
A slim thread of hope that he yet finds hearth’s fire.
Around birch bole, a bramble bight
First bound across then tied aright.
A drop of blood, he draws the twist,
A tremor in the gloaming mist.
To sage and greenheart, guard and blade
And warden is a summon made.
The traveler rests in his home, safe and mending,
The Thornwatch go on, for their charge is unending.