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The Soft One Has Spoken

The hunter has spoken,
for the soft one hears.
She knows not what he is,
he knows not what she is.
A tear is trickling down her face,
but he does not look at her.
For he thinks her a foolish girl.
She pities him greatly,
he is blind,
blind to the truth.
She is the link,
The link to what he fears and searches.

She tries to tell him.
She tells him that the woods are guarded,
but he thinks she doesn't understand.
What he doesn't know,
is that he who guards the woods,
is he who draws the fae,
and he and she are of the same kind.

Tell me she says, "Do you know who rests here?"
He points to the trees and says, "the fae."
She shakes her head and says "no"
"Look to the hill on your left."
"He is there."