The Circle of Hollow Pines

The Circle of Hollow Pines

Three shadows met beneath the pines,

their voices threading through the mist.

The earth drank their whispered secrets,

and the wind carried none away.

Candles burned with stubborn blue flames,

casting shapes that no one recognised.

Each spell they wove held its own weight,

binding past and future in fragile air.

The first spoke of sorrow unclaimed,

a grief that no hand could reach.

The second traced fingers on old bark,

leaving marks only they could read.

The third held silence like a shield,

watching flames and shadows alike.

They were not cruel, they were necessary,

keepers of endings that refused mercy.

The forest bent with unspoken consent,

listening without question or haste.

Night thickened around the circle,

folding the world into a tighter breath.

They called on names that had vanished,

on power older than memory itself.

Each word trembled with possibility,

each pause heavy with what was lost.

When the final ember died,

nothing left the same as before.

Somewhere in the hollows, life remembered,

and death had leaned close to learn their ways.

They departed quietly, leaving no trace,

only the forest carrying their intent.

The wind still bends through hollow pines,

and three names linger where shadows remain.