The air is still, the grass is wet with dew
the sun is barely risen; the moon still holds the fortress in its light
but the sun grows stronger and stronger
and the cry of a wolf breaks the spell
On the lakeshore the young scatter
and the curlew scream lends an eeriness
like the mists which rise slowly off the lake
touched by the sun; an orange tapestry to behold
A pair of cautious eyes reads the signs
nervous fingers turn the stones
ears detect the distant sounds
all is not what it seems in the valley ...
He was scared, he was aware battle lay ahead
a confrontation to change all things
he was in grave danger
trapped in another dimension; unable to find his own ...
Here he was shaman and hunter and red skin
but there out in the great beyond he was ..?
What was he ... he loved the valley
he loved the solitary life ... he was able to forget everything here
But now the reminders had returned
and the elders made themselves known again
they were persistent
he was to return to the tribe and face the darkness
he must leave the valley
he must leave this life
for the tribe held the key to the future
and his real identity
