hunt

pitiless stares from silent watchers, hidden in plain sight, hunters hunted by forces inexplicable

rest is for the dying, the reminder of sleep eternal, for now we dance under the stormy skies in hopes of rains filled with glorious cleansing

the thunder cracks the hymns of forefathers, each lightning strike another reliquary of ancestral pride

padding silently through the brush, invisible to the sharp eyes of prey, coaxing speed from cramping muscles

the tales whispered around campfires, of demons walking in the skin of man, wendigo feast upon the hearts of the pure

the running waters of the river black, winding through the hills, filled with men who are not man, slits on their throats to breath the polluted water

the hills covered in perpetual mists, an ever shifting reality of towns and villages that vanish with the rising sun, an evil stain on the land

experiments and atrocities, twisted reflections of natural order, the decaying damned wander the fog, ravenous ghouls and the scent of the sea

beware the creatures carrying the smell of salt and death, the seeking arms of the depths, tentacled and hungering maws with too many fangs, too many mouths

of the colour of madness, on flight with wings of mesmerizing patterns, intoxicating and beguiling, injecting venom with their touch

one last hunt on the muddy banks, the final cast of the die, to spit in the face of fate on last time, onto the lands of the fallen gods, to see our kin once again

in a land of eternal summer, where the crops sway in the warm winds across the plains, bountiful harvest and game aplenty, the sun kissed realm of forgotten homes

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