The Wendigo’s Walk

A vagabond soul through the timberland roves,
With antlers like echoes and breath made of coves.
Fractured by fate, yet whole in her way,
She dances with dusk and dreams with the gray.

A shadow of sorrow, a flicker of flame,
No collar, no cage, no whisper of shame.
Yet freedom runs deep in her marrow and soul—
Untamed, unbowed, imperfectly whole.

She sings to the stars and drinks from the mist,
A ghost among pines the daylight has kissed.
Wild is her blood, and wild she shall be,
A Wendigo wandering, fierce and still free.