Dialogue in the woods, where the path branches into a fork, somewhere north of anywhere

“Long have I stared at the path in the wood.”

She asked: “Does it really make any difference?”

“Ultimately, this is of no importance.”

She appeared to muse for a while, then to brood

And replied sharply: “Don't mind me being rude

But I can't stake my fate on inadvertence.

I'd try hard and observe, ponder and conclude.”

“Easily said. On what basis can you found

Your reasoning?” I was a little unnerved.

She glanced left and right and listened to no sound,

Saw but the endarknessed end where the paths curved.

Then she spoke, and such a gruff voice never I heard:

“One should then follow the hound, follow the hound,

For the inner, primal hound's scent never swerved.”

Immobile, her grey gaze bore straight into mine.

I stood there with her for what seemed an age

And each second felt like a whole new stage

And hot and cold chills thundered along my chine.

In time I saw her stare fall and her head incline,

On her mouth a pain no word could assuage:

“In the past, you'd no trouble reading the sign.”

And with that same husky voice she fell silent,

And left me where the path splits into a fork.

I sat exhausted beneath some gnarled giant.

The trees the howling winds seemed to bend and torque,

And in the stifling stillness I could see no mark.

Yet all of a sudden the feel of the bark

Stirred some unknown strength in me and defiant

I bounced up and ran softly into the dark.