Beneath the Boughs

In Darkened Wood where hushes grow,
Where moonless branches lean and know,
A Tsolaa heart began to stir
When Hashtans shadow spoke to her.

He came not crowned in gold or flame,
A human monk with quiet name,
With steady hands and watchful eyes,
Like midnight calm beneath untamed skies.

She was the green beneath the gloom,
The hidden root, the secret bloom,
A forest-song in veils of night,
A living grace in His sight.

And he, though shaped by discipline,
Felt something warm awake within;
Not thunder, not a sudden fire,
But admiration, a soft desire.

For love need not arrive full-grown,
Nor claim the darkened path its own;
It buds where patient glances fall,
A tender fruit against the wall.

In Hashtans shade, where secrets sleep,
Where vows are dark and waters deep,
Their laughter ripened, slow and true,
Like dusk-fed berries kissed with dew.

She saw in him no passing spark,
But strength that did not fear the dark.
He saw in her no fragile flower,
But woodland grace and quiet power.

So let the fruits of love begin,
With root below and breath within;
Let admiration branch and climb,
Made sweeter by the hand of time.

And should Lord Twilight veil the sun,
Still two hearts know what has begun:
A bud, a breath, a whispered art
The Darkened Wood within the heart.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Aeguary, in the year 1006 AF.