Hey, i made this about 2 weeks ago. please tell me what you think. ========================================================== It was a frigid evening, and unregularly so. Autumn was just beginning to set in, and the oak leaves were turning a myriad of bright colors. Traces of vibrant yellows, reds, and oranges would speak the curious onlooker, while the less appeasing browns cried out for attention. The group treaded softly through the forest, through the greens and yellows and reds and oranges, and giving the browns the attention they so fanatically despair for. For to them, every tree is a story, every branch is is a chapter, and every leaf is a word. They study the trees as a scholer studies his notes. Silently they journeyed forward, their bare feet calloused over from ages of existing shoeless in the woodlands. They were nearing their destination. A lone wolf proceeded to a howl, and it was promptly answered by a plethora of it's kind. Nature was qu(cen)eer in the way that something so beautiful can be so deadly. Though the men learned long ago from their own fathers that if one respects Nature, it will in turn respect you. Finally, the men reached the location. skulls of wolves, bears, and deers stood atop wooden poles, shrines to the creatures who give them tools, furs, and meat used to survive. In the middle of the clearing stood a stone slab with intricate designs of animals and trees carved into it's surface, a vibrant ecosystem that somehow seemed devoid of a soul. One of the men solemnly shuffled forward towards the altar, a freshly killed deer in his grasp. Another man stood near the slab, his stringy, unkept hair tied into a ponytail for the occasion. It was as if he had an aura of authority that all the men respected. Nothing set him aside from the rest besides a small wooden lanyard in the shape of a tree, with it's branches and roots entwined as one. For nature has no beginning, and posseses no end. The man placed the deer on the altar, and their leader pulled out an ornate iron dagger.Any whispers, the subtle ghosts of conversation, were now definatly silenced. No words were spoken, not a single sound broke the calming solitude. The priest raised the dagger and made a quick slashing motion around the lifeless creature's throat. Blood, still warm, steamed in the biting cold and poured out around the alter, filling the graphics with a deep, aubern red and it seemed that the patterns had come to life. The priest bowed long and deep to the body, and the rest of the men followed suite. They rose together, and led by the priest, began to travel back to their village, leaving the deer to whoever nature saw fit to take it. It was already getting dark, and it would be far into the night by the time they returned. It was a full moon, which means they would have another month before they'd have to repeat the service again. But until then, the grove will stand in silence, at one with the world it's apart of.