The Watcher Poem by Amouta Stardancer

She sits there waiting,
on the forest edge.
She sits there dreaming,
of what's to come, and when.

Lying in wait,
as the livers walk by,
she is not of them,
not yet, any way.

Her heart in her hands,
silent and crimson.
Her eyes search,
over the world, unsatisfied.

Ravens alight the branches,
beside her,
cawing occupies her time,
but their distractions are welcome.

A wolf among men,
she just sits where she can,
waiting for something,
to make her heart beat.