Description
In shadows cast by silver moons, She twirls where howling silence blooms. Barefoot grace on forest floor, A rhythm born from ancient lore.
They circle close with eyes aglow, These beasts who once did fear her so. But now they bow to fiery art— Her movement tames their wild heart.
She is the storm, the whispered flame, A spirit none can trap or name. Among the wolves, she claims her throne, In savage grace, she stands alone.
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