Aranella spins the gold
’til the dragon story’s told.
Gathering in crease and fold,
summer’s heat turns autumn cold.
Aranella spins the song,
days grow short as nights grow long.
Curses for the midnight gong,
muscles red and sore and strong.
Aranella spins the steel,
so the wyrm be brought to heel.
Kept me long enough, she thinks.
Village blood around her stinks
Hiding with a knowing grin,
hears the difference in her spin.
Doesn’t know how deep she’s in.
He will not let her side win.
Dragon pride’s a fragile thing,
magic swords have blades that sing.
Quench the fire, spill the blood.
Magic a torrential flood.
Aranella dances now,
child of sky and forest bough.
Sword in hand
and rich in gold.
Dragon’s roar no longer bold.
Turns her back and walks away.
War will not be waged today.
Will not war.
Beyond Panic 