Is there really so much you can do, my friend?

Your first year’s journey is close to its end.

No more the excuses of being young and new.

No more the fears of fighting can rule you.

Do you refuse to shake down the trees?

To roar like the lion and injure like bees?

For at the end of this year comes but a choice

More serious than the childish one of your voice.

No longer are you young in the eyes of this place.

The time's come to trade in your stumbling for grace.

Will you cause enemies to quiver in sight of your tine?

Will you protect the weaker, ensure they are fine?

A coward is the only one to allow blood to be spilled.

Are you the same coward, or are you strong willed?


.
.
.



I refuse, mocking bird, ravenous crow.



All you want is the blood of my kill.

All you want is for me to bend to your perverse will.

Do you refuse to understand

I’ll never give in to your demand?

The tines on my crown

Will never bow down.

Blood will never stain this snowy bone

For more than fear of exile from my home.

I never want to be a part

In something that causes the breaking of hearts.

This hart is not afraid to see pain

So long as he can make his friends whole again.




Now go, thieving jay, and never return.



.
.
.




Oh Moss!

Oh Coward!

You’ll watch your world burn.

-And with a harsh cackle and caw
The jay flew off toward a dark part of the wood






Not leaving at all.-