The night so cold and still,
The forest so eerie and dark,
Shrouded in mystery the secrets hidden in nature.
Shadows spill out across the moss-covered ground,
The ground and the trees are bathed in the rays of the moon.

Then, on the horizon a silouhette,
A shape of a beast.
The long and slender muzzle points to the sky,
The sky is like a wizard's cape,
Curved over the Earth sheilding it from the space beyond.

The beast with eyes like halos,
They gleam like magic the irises a golden-yellow,
They stare and they observe,
They search and they hunt,
They watch and remember.

The beast with a pelt like night,
It gleams like a rook's wing,
In the pelt, scars of the past,
Trophies of battles won and of battles lost.

The beast bares his fangs,
He is the son of the night,
He is the son of The Darkness
but he is....

The Master of Battle.

Thought I'd have a go at poetry, I don't know..