This is how you drink power, boiling essence from nature itself.
Blow, wind. These currents fuel me.
Rage, waters. Thy roaring sustains me.
Peace comes in waves, broken by the sins & presence of man.
Twenty percent. And of that number, even fewer know their stake.
Trees, groan or sigh, that I might inherit your endless strength.
Predators stalking truths, so my spellcraft may gorge on knowledge.
Misanthropy feeds the majority of the weaving. Isolation winds it up.
Stealing strength to bolster kin, containment and power both.
