Walk with the dark, hand in hand. Lose yourself with the stars. You lost sight a long time ago.

You are a beast of tooth and claw, imprisoned by your own hunter’s traps.

The villages rest upon your great shoulders, heaving with each breath. They offer you many things, as any great ancient thing deserves. You hold the ability to shake free of your bonds, you hold their lives. Decide, great ancient thing.

Do not fret about the neighbour bird’s nest. They may have bones and sticks, but yours is made of horse’s hair and soft plumage. It will serve you just as well in the coming months.

The pockets are overflowing. Reach in, share what is found.

Shed your skin, let the water shape you and wear away the old.