a cry of battle, the crash of swords,
unheard yelling, and muttered words.
a flash of movement, the crack of wood.
until only one man stood.

a dancing nymph running through,
with elf-like grace no one knew.
a dash, a jump, behind a tree,
the tip of a tail last to flee.

shining eyes from within the dark
the keenest color, a tiny spark.
standing quiet within her realm
made from the branches of an elm.

twirling his blade with slow grace
feeling winded after his race.
the battle done, the field defeated.
then why is his blood, still so heated.