Have the Night Elves forgotten?
Cenarius is dead.
Death occurs nightly
but not a god’s.
The moon is routinely full
and we give it more attention than the fallen righteous.
Have his daughters’ slow poison
affected our hearts?
Our faces hardly summon a whimper.
Even his favored sons
seem preoccupied, with the treants lust for revenge.
Our avoidance of magic does not turn to an avoidance of emotion
We may melt into the shadows, but our feelings come with us
Our isolation in nature does not isolate our heart
The Nightsaber may growl, but she will purr with her cubs
Our ancestors descent to the sea did not drown our convictions
The night elf people still return fallen birds to their nests.
“We’ve suffered,” the sentinels growl
full of hostility they’ve never shown before.
“The lesser, the invaders, cut at our homes and taint our culture!
Demons, not fauns, roam Ashenvale
and death roams just as free!
Kalimdor is under siege by its own mad inhabitants.
And the Well of Eternity is as empty as this mortality.
Elune’s grace has stumbled,” they exclaim bitterly.
Yet, Hippogryph still honor Cenarius, with their allegiance.
Mountain Giants have awaken to heal the wilds.
Druids mend the forest’s wounds.
The trees still breathe and grow.
Ancients house us as the rain feeds it thirst.
The moon is still full and Teldrassil still reaches for it!
and the night is still young and Cenarius still guards it, in spirit.
So why are his memories too barren for life to grow
and too dry for tears to fall?
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