An Unfortunate Turn of Events The moon glints off the tip of the blade, The taste of blood still so acute upon lips, The grim remnants of battle ebb with the sound of dying and the honoured dead. The halls of ancestors await them Exhaustion and weariness proceed He leaves the field of the dead He walks with no thought to his direction He reeks of death. He finds a stream and removes his elk skins and armour. the water is cold with the bite of winter He needs warmth The hunting is sparse, he must go hungry this night The fire is small and limbs ache in the cold The morning comes ... he hears movement in the wood The sound of men moving in through the thicket, Chain mail clamouring off steel sword, He is hunted Still weak from the previous days battle, Anger rises in him. He unsheathes both axe and sword He hunts the hunters The fog is thick they will find it difficult, He will not He stalks his would be hunters They are prey now He crouches behind a felled oak They pass unknowing The first one dies quietly The sword passes through his throat A hand upon the mouth to stop the sounds The body is heavy The second takes an axe to the skull The sound alerts the other One more to die The struggle is long Exhaustion has overtaken strength a dagger wavers between two bodies The hunter is strong The warrior is weakened The blade is close now less than an inch Pressure upon armour The sound of metal scraping slow against metal Pain explodes Blood trickles from the wound Still the hunter pushes the blade deeper A sudden jerk and what strength was left dies The hunter pulls the dagger from the dead warrior Cleans the metal with a leather rag The suns rays glint off the tip of the blade the eyes see darkness, all is silence Written by Byron Graff
Posted on: Wed, 22 Oct 2014 04:06:04 +0000
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