Finding myself lost in this retrospect;
I always would wonder what you dream of.
And each morning when I would wake,
I still found myself dreaming on:
Creatures emerge of an ethereal plume,
They come of smoke into our world;
With this, I call myself the spiritdancer,
As my thoughts become as real as all else.
You sought them out, your spectral prey,
Chasing these dreams like I chased mine.
My dear old friend, my little hunter,
Do you know what became of their essence?
What of yours, having earned your antlers?
Are you among them now, as I think of you?
May you be the master of this resurgence
We’re here to bring the world this dawn,
Before the freeze, this incoming cold snap…