4b: Tsinta Centipedes

I remember

my flock had learned to fly well in space
my pack felt it needed its first hunt
we hunt giant insects for first blood

I pray

to the spirits of the hunting
to the faeries of the wild
to the ancient hungry spirits
to the bloody savage godlings

let us join as hunting pack
let us feel the primal rush
let us stalk and pounce and kill
let us taste the flesh of prey
let us bind our souls as one

I feel

a pounding of the pulse
a rushing of the breath
a lightness of the mind
a tingle in the hands
a quickness in the feet
a balance in the core

the pack gathering
it is a new pack
unsure of itself
some are just young pups
it is their first hunt
it is pack's first hunt
pack sniffs cautiously

I smell

cold crisp space winds
verdant grasslands
autumn flowers
musty soil

upturned soil
deep cold burrows
moldy dead things
insect droppings

I hear

grass rustles
footsteps crunch
armor thuds

claws scrabble
stones skitter
pincers click

leader shouts
bowstrings hum
warspells buzz

I see

insects
people

weapons
armor

battle
carnage

target
prey-thing

burning
bloodshed

I pray

run

jump

scream

aim

burn

fry

bleed

crush

kill

eat

grin

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