The gates of lasting life, always stood at the center of the great wood. Two feathered beasts, oversize and heroin, the ravens called to onlookers with low leveled mouthing words. The wind trickled, to ears which forced with pull, their entities forward, upwards towards them gates. Without the power to stop themselves, onward they walked. Until through, their souls taken. Leaving only a carcass's to shadow, the soil around
"Them harrowing gates".