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A poem for the Wyldess. (Why not?)
The evil one - chaotic blight,
Unholy Mistress of the night,
Chosen reaper, often spurned,
a sacrifice, lesson learned.
A storm, a beast, a bloody scythe,
a nightmare, a simple lie,
She takes these forms and yet is none,
forerunner of the blood to run.
Reviled one who knows the truth,
her children hated; Fated's "proof",
The Wyld ones come to her call,
Hunter, Huntsman, killers all.
Scorned and hated, vile things,
they feed from hate, from death's black wings,
Lock up your followers before they fall,
lest the Wyld come to take you all.
-- Dedicated to Katrana, Mistress of the Wyld Hunt, true Incarna of the Triat. (July 15, 2003, 11:31PM EST, my house)