The lands are quiet,
The dead now rot,
The battle is long over.
The journey home
Wants lives to take
Beneath the dying wood.
The host rides on
To meet the trees
And cross to homeland yonder.
The trees care not,
They yearn for food
They consume the bad or good.
The Dark Ones come
With claw and teeth
And dine upon the host.
The corpses stay
To rot beneath
The shadow of the boughs.
Do not dare trek
Beneath those trees
Lest you join the fallen host.
Author notes
Sort of along the lines of "The Murder-Gardens of Ea'ahrll", I suppose, although less ghoulish. Make what you want of it.
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