The wind screamed, making the trees plead for mercy
while everything man had created tumbled back to the earth.
As the walls were torn down and the towers destroyed, our traditions were as well.
Forced to leap from our usual heights.
But while hidden from the storm, we were cursed to also avoid any trace or response.
Their reaction never reached us, our fate left to cower in the dark
whilst clinging to our sanity through repeated tales of who we are.
Past lives before ours told fluently, without a word of a lie;
through the terror, the world made us honest.
Once discovered by the frost, we had to flee again.
Forced towards the edge, such a new and bothersome concept.
On our trail, survivors have collapsed,
and our only remaining morals were used to drag them through this cold, sick war.
We needed outside forces, without them, souls were lost,
but a lack of help from the unaffected meant that death tolls were beyond us.
Maybe if we were “your people” our struggle would have deemed importance.
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