Tiptoe through the forest with a silent step and a sharp sword.

The tender-hearted bear the most wounds. Must we become tough and hardened to endure this cruel world? Is tenderness not to be prized?

I have learned never to cry out to most people. They each carry their own reasons, some like heavy packs and others like swords.

The sun has been bright and warm, and the breeze sweet. It blows roughly at times, but i don't mind.