Youth who wanders far afield
Seeking not four legged game, but quiet
A crowded house offers little peace
Even in the privacy of one's own chamber
Wind rustled leaves agree more with his spirit
That the constant clamor of his sibling hoard
Many times he lost track of the hour
Only to be summoned back by silver's failing light
Silver that makes his hair seem a vision
A vision of flame cloaked by mist
Some would say he is merely one of two
And this point he would strongly contest
True, they are alike of face and dress
But those that truly know them see the difference
The elder far less quick to judge
And far more desiring of simple peace
Peace is not what he will find here
He knows also what the cost of peace is
Peace would mean being torn from his shell of flesh
And being returned to the home he abandoned
This will happen in time, he knows
It is the fate of all the Fire Spirit's sons
The one who loves the quiet of the woods
Will be consumed by the flame that destroys all