Let’s forget reason and charge into the mist. The night will pay us no consideration when it blots our guide from its zenith. Reservations are reserved for the few who will sleep in nights reach. Tomorrow we would have reached to the promised place.
Bring with you courage and a tonic of twisted sanity. No linear thought can traverse the jagged edges of nights winding road. Your feet might not hold familiar shape, but they will be strong. Your heart might wither at times, in time it will drink fortitude.
I aligned myself with your vision because it is devorsed of myopia. It failed to believe the vail of the tidy walls that sheltered our flock from the beasts. Such separation from danger had maimed my skill, I had forgotten to hunt, in being hunted I became prey to the consumption of certainty, avoid this outcome at all costs.
My nomad brother, home was where mothered kept you stay and surrendered your adventure to care for ears of maize, amazed when you showed power to till more than your share, your might is more than credited for. Home is where my father went away to a wooded place, a venture which was presented as a mere nightmare to me, stories of wonten peril. He wasn’t always willing to show us the bow that strained his grasp of fragile things, the trophies that nurtured his pride, never was a tale told of the cunning cultivated by stalking the boar. I will carry you into the wood.
Together we will slay the mystery.
There are stories that portray courage as a commonplace, amongst uncommon men this legend is known. Amongst uncommon women, whose gathered bounties sport rarities that lift us out of common lethargy, the strories that crackle in moonlit fires were the common cadence of there clapping undulation.
We’d brave the watery slopes of reason for a magic that is tucked into the pockets of the old mystics. Only in coming close to these forbidden friends are we able to reach into those pockets and draw out the dried bones that she reads our fortunes from. Evidence of a tale as old as time and pacified by the city walls. The village will mourn the passing of your innocence into the wilderness, save the mystic, she will applaude our zeal, sending well wishing thought into the mountain pass.
The chieftens conglomerates will sire the next heir to the cities. The mountain pass through wooded mystery will braze the iron few into swords of hope to severe ties with the world that sysiphus shamelessly carried.