Balwyn slammed into the surface of the land, suffering a staggering blow, limbs shattering
Through blurred vision, broken Balwyn became aware of the creature above him, biting his flesh
It picked at Balwyn’s body, prying pieces apart, peeling off his skin, oblivious to his shouts of pain
But the rich earth and entire environment echoed with every scream that erupted from him
The feasting creature then, with a quick thrust, silenced him by slicing through his throat
Weakly Balwyn whimpered, warbling with what was left of his wakefulness
Klara called him to the coldness of death, a clear calmness enveloped his near corpse
Then with a sudden shrieking sound of shock the creature stopped
Out of the air arrows were attacking, each aimed precisely and arriving at their target.
Looking for the source of this new enemy, the creature lost its life, a last arrow landing at its mark
Into his increasingly dim vision entered the hunter, its cloaked head inclined, illuminated by interior light
Nothing had come near preparing him, nor would anything again net him as the first sight of the nymph
Her face shone with the fullness of Lôm, her features softened the fierce eyes that found his
Carefully she cleaned and bound the crushed warrior’s wounds, creating a camp there to stay.
When darkness had deepened, the diminished Balwyn woke from his doze to the delightful sounds
Of the nymph playing on an instrument, adding her own voice in intervals odd to the ear of Balwyn
The sounds soon sent him back to sleep, a soothing slumber
Gaal glided high above before groggy Balwyn awoke, gazing around for the gentle savior
Her art of healing helped in a manner he had never before experienced.
Though utterly undone, Balwyn felt himself under a spell as his bound up body unified
The nymph remained nearby, offering nice nourishment and a nightly concert
Quickly Balwyn felt quite a bit better, eager to question the quiet lady, who refused his queries
The mystery made Balwyn more restless, his mind spinning with myriad dreams and desire
So he studied the nymph, respecting the silence that she imposed on their stay
Balwyn examined each and every detail of her, but understanding eluded his efforts.
Yet the music remained, running through Balwyn’s frustration like the roar of rain on a roof
Creating a calm in the wake of its cadences, the course of a curiously sonorous melody
Balwyn would find his wild will weakened, letting him drift until Gaal’s wakening