Trails

A poem of the aspects of hunting.

The wolf looks back
Spotted hare suddenly lost
The hare looks back
In the dark eyes turn black
As both see a hunter
All hunger suddenly lost.

As it looms
It turns to fumes
Across the wood it booms
A bright light rips apart
Scything the night, searching t'ward
Another soul, for the tombs.

The hare bounds into the night
As the cloak seeks in the light
Looking down through his sights
For the shape of the night
Dragged away, before first light.

The wolf tries to take flight
Unable, she struggles to bite
But a quick end to the fight
Bound to a carriage, quite tight
The blood trails, what a sight.