No trail here.

The only thing clear

Is that everything here

Appears the same

Where is the moon tonight?
I could use a little light.

I was told by the Native Nation.
That this was a place of consecration.

This is where they took the old to die.
And on the rocks their bodies would lie.

I came to look, I started too late.
Planning was never one of my stronger traits.

Here the Raven gave them wings to fly.
The Fox gave them cunning eyes.

I could use those things now.
If just to reach a road that's plowed.

I might not find the exact rock pile.
I may have found their culture's style.

I see them now in every formation.

Each wisp of fog

Each rampike log

There is something that flows through every tree.
That only the Raven and Fox can see.