Black thorns choke a prison ruined
A creature of root lurks at the gate
It has eaten the sun, which shines no longer

A nut has fallen from its branch
And landed upon mossy stone
It looks eastward towards the open sea

Deep within the murky mire
A single sprout grows on the stone pile
An abandoned nest, with nothing steps

The reeds of a sunken ship rots
As trade ships pass, heading north
It shades a sapling of the Hist

In hollow echoes, past thundering roots
Lies a Hist that has matured
Deep within the winding cavern

Where sea meets swamp, below cliff's edge
Behind Imperial stone coated in black
An elder Hist sits in water cool

In the outskirts of a town without Hist
An egg basket sits inside a stone nest
Built by uncertain dryskin hands

Stone snake protects stone egg
Between two pillars of our past follies
To the west, the haj mota lurks

In a vault of withering roots
Hidden behind towering stone
The lizard sits, waiting

North of water bereft of life
Roots lurk at the edge of the swamp
In its belly, the walking lizard

Near the maw of void
Walking roots have swallowed our kin
Beneath the rumbling waterfall

A final season of death
Lies within your final rooted foe
Close enough to hear the whispering roots