"We are walking in a strange web of darkness that can only have been made by Ukka the Ma’lae.”
“Ah, well, we know we’re on the right trail, then!” said Melod brightly. Looking around at the gloomy faces, he added, “I think this calls for a song!” No one answered, so he took out one of his smaller whistles, piped a little intro, and began,
“When the woods are dark, and the sky is black
And the shadows sneak behind your back
And the scheming Demon lurks ahead,
We know we’re headed true!
When the sun don’t shine, and the wolves attack,
And the food’s all eaten from each pack,
And we’ve forgot – what is a bed?
Our journey’s nearly through!”
Somehow, this song didn't have quite the cheering affect Melod was looking for...
I can still invite anyone to read the tale thus far, but to do so I must have your email. And your word that you shan't try to steal my wonderful prose and poems.