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_I hear the roar of the Wild Hunt_          _the forest is no bar to your call_                    _the Spine cannot hold me from the North_                              _I stalk the path to the Emerald Hall_ not on my back, or behind the knife driven into it but with weathered hands in harder, harsher lands lessons learned, the color of blood and sweat cast down upon the granite altars of the Monarch _could you feel me there?_          _as I have eternally followed in the distance_                    _I have never lost your trail_                            _you have never lost your tail_ the time has not been kind, and for your beauty I have grown older, colder, bolder, and harsher in my ways yet still blooming for your touch, for my reason to live on for a warmth that only northern gods whisper isn't gone _I see the path, stretching through the Pit_          _aflame in the light of countless dying moons_                    _pawprints your love still leaves_                              _filled with salt-water and sentiment_ and this place is sediment, cold blood running in it's hot streets and with ***** feet, I will stumble past it's northern reach to the edge of your fingertips, to the bridge that leads to you, to the scent of evergreens, and the end that holds my death                       _but I will not die before I can tell,_                                 _the path to paradise_                         _doesn't begin and end in hell_                                        _call to me_                                _I have not been idle_                                        _call to me_                          _she for whom the arrow breaks_                                        _call to me_                        _my life's one and only endless love_                                         _call to me_                                        _I'll be there_                                  _Tidewalker, call to me_
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Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
Whispers from the Hunter's Vase
_I hear the roar of the Wild Hunt_          _the forest is no bar to your call_                    _the Spine cannot hold me from the North_                              _I stalk the path to the Emerald Hall_ not on my back, or behind the knife driven into it but with weathered hands in harder, harsher lands lessons learned, the color of blood and sweat cast down upon the granite altars of the Monarch _could you feel me there?_          _as I have eternally followed in the distance_                    _I have never lost your trail_                            _you have never lost your tail_ the time has not been kind, and for your beauty I have grown older, colder, bolder, and harsher in my ways yet still blooming for your touch, for my reason to live on for a warmth that only northern gods whisper isn't gone _I see the path, stretching through the Pit_          _aflame in the light of countless dying moons_                    _pawprints your love still leaves_                              _filled with salt-water and sentiment_ and this place is sediment, cold blood running in it's hot streets and with ***** feet, I will stumble past it's northern reach to the edge of your fingertips, to the bridge that leads to you, to the scent of evergreens, and the end that holds my death                       _but I will not die before I can tell,_                                 _the path to paradise_                         _doesn't begin and end in hell_                                        _call to me_                                _I have not been idle_                                        _call to me_                          _she for whom the arrow breaks_                                        _call to me_                        _my life's one and only endless love_                                         _call to me_                                        _I'll be there_                                  _Tidewalker, call to me_
PadanFain
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Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
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