A singing voice

((As this voice carries through the woods, you see the words hanging in the sky - color and font are as you see them))

Mr. Redtouch musn’t play
But couldn’t, wouldn’t go away
No, wee ones shrieking piercing pain
Ne’er to peep or squawk again

But then came the slither slither
Seeking thither, coming hither
Mr. Redtouch, not to find
So leave the future far behind

To the old, yes go we bold!
Turn the glass, within the fold
1200 moons have gone so soon
Shame of dragoon now turned to loon

He spits and hums his venom now
But once made Pretty scream like sow
And did the dark point-toothed one’s bidding
So lost his mind, now that is fitting!

But here in ages past you’ll find
A cure to future left behind
For dark-winged stabby will soon have shine
To coat with liquid made from vine

And Mr. Hexface cannot bleed
But soon will warnings have to heed
So file the phial and stab the vile
And summon Sleeper in exile

The blade-skull’s servant waits asleep
His charge of sleepless death to keep
Awaits the word – awaits the name
Will hunt him down with blade and flame

And turn him back to slumber then
But heed this word, or soon begin
A terror that will rend the skies:
Leave the skulk without his eyes.

*to the group* it's a bit catchy, inn'it? Not quite sure it makes much sense, but i like the tune. not so fond of the floaty words. reeks a bit too much of magic for my taste.

*bending down to check a trail of small tracks*
Well what do you know? Something I know. Follow the tracks, and we're bound to fi-
*stops, surprised to find that the tracks seem to be painted on the surface. They are not pressed into the soil, as if the earth doesn't know it's been stepped on yet*
Strange. ... and stranger still, the prints are small, but the stride is long. ... I believe we should follow these a small way. See what we find.