Zephyr Lore:
In the cold of winter, we remember that the warm west wind will blow again.
Snow Leopard paces before his hoard.
Panther’s footfalls do not exist.
He looks over his shoulder.
She is not seen.
He whirls, claw and fang.
She is already past.
His blade drops.
She is not fooled.
His teeth are razors.
Her blade is sharper.
His blade is on her.
She is not there.
His blood is up.
Her blood is ice.
His blood colors the ground.
She moves to finish him.
He smiles after his strike is true.
She hisses.
He roars.
She slows, warmth and languor.
He jerks, chill and agita.
She brings the gale, hot and fierce.
He is still, until the next winter.
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