The Wolf of Hjorig Watches Still

Black trees lean where the cold light spills… No saints here… no final wills… You walk like you own these frozen veins— The forest smiles… but never explains… Turn around… don’t say you didn’t feel it… In your breath… in the way the silence kneels… In the pines… it follows still… Slow and soft… from Hjorig’s hill… Call it fate… or call it will— The Wolf is watching… always still… No law lives in the northern line… No god drinks from this blood and pine… You take one step… you take too much— This land remembers every touch… Hear it breathe… right behind your shadow… Not a sound… but you already know… In the pines… it follows still… Slow and soft… from Hjorig’s hill… Call it fate… or call it will— The Wolf is watching… always still… Watching you… watching you… Every step… every move… Watching you… watching you… Nothing here… lets you through… still… still… still… In the pines… it follows still… Slow and soft… from Hjorig’s hill… Call it fate… or call it will— The Wolf is watching… always still…