Winding Road

At the edge of a mighty Forest
A man stands, wet and weary
on a worn path, an ancient road
Winding forward, dark and dreary

Thunder booms, lightening flashes
High in the sky through sluicing rain
The young man ventures ever onward,
A promise to fulfil, a mission to gain

He is armed only with his silver sword,
Made deadly with elven runes
Nothing in the forest dare touch him
For he is a princeling of the Dunes



The End

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