Here in the dark, the wild and feral things play.  Here in the forest, its not safe night or day.  There just in the trees, a fleece of red.  Should you see it, soon you'll be dead.  A smile, and a glint in his eye.  That is what it means to fear before they die.  A shaman they say, covered in ink and rings of silvery and gold.  Eyes of orange as well, or so I am told.  He smiles wild and wide, through the trees he does glide.  Then it was I saw him true, in a clearing below a sky of blue.  He turned with a sadness so clear, I could not help but pity the dear.  I approached, scared though I was.  Slowly as one does.  Above a man he stood, all covered in red.  It wasn't me, he said.  I drew my sight to blood.  He hadn't done this, no man could.  He worked quietly and quickly to heal the man whole.  While I helped by providing a water filled bowl.  Hours and minutes gone by so quick, but it seemed his methods did the trick.  The mans eyes opened with no fear, for the man had fixed him here.  To his feet he came with a tug and pull, then the man headed home not ready to play the fool.  When I glanced to the man he had gone, so much to do, of life he was fond.  I learned it that day, as the rings of silver and gold did depart.  Into the wilderness where there was no chart.  He bore a burden placed on himself.  A healer which possessed great knowledge yet no wealth.  A curious thing I saw that day, he was no monster he only came to play.  The wolf I saw the very next winter, I swear I saw gold if not but a splinter.  It stared at me for one long pause, before it jaunted off on those lethal claws.  I smiled despite the scene, for I knew how warm the man must have been.

-Neeza Ryker, Wolf, Shaman, Healer-