By: Eirik Posted on: April 28, 2010
- An episode in the life of Vixen, the Sentinel House tutor, in three sonnets.
. Vixen
The air that rises from the Shrine of Death,
O'erripe and cloying, to my clothing clings.
Remaining here in Gaia's fane, its breath
Has bound to me the stench of dying things.
My dreams are veiled in brumes of blight. Mirage
Becomes my waking sight as all around
I see the trees in terrible montage,
Displayed as corpses prostrate on the ground.
My fevered brow foretells the burning fate
Of these beloved forests I have known.
In tortured silence, I am reticent to wait
Until the dry and crackling leaves have blown
Away. Into the Western woods I flee
Where once I walked in green tranquility.
II. The Handmaiden
Titania! O, Ithmia! Come see
A fallen servant of the wood. So pale
Her visage; hollow, haunted eyes has she.
Beyond the Zaphar, by the Elmwood trail
She lies upon a bed of ginger leaves.
Attend her wounds by some forgotten art
Which absolute recovery achieves.
To see an ailing Tsol'aa grieves my heart,
And I with pity have been deeply moved.
This one has been called Vixen. By her name
Her dedication to our cause is proved.
A Sentinel is she, of wide acclaim.
Make haste! My dryad sisters, to the weald!
In order that her spirit may be healed.
III. Titania
I wonder, will they hesitate to lend
The power of their groves to Vixen's aid,
If knowing that the cure itself may end
The vital bond to Nature they have made?
Begrudge them this decision, I will not;
And I, a Queen with hundreds in my care.
For life, in spite of all its joys, is fraught
With difficult decisions everywhere.
I sense a change within the woods will mark
A new beginning for these forest folk
Who Sentinels are called. Will they embark
Upon this journey? Will they bear the yoke
Of novelty? To uphold Nature's laws,
They must become the champions of Her cause.