The Dark Talons Of Two Worlds

The fire roared furtively and then sighed, feeding the men a hellish heat as they trembled in their soaking slumber sweat amid thick and tattered blankets—dusty, bloody fingernails digging into hard soil, aching toes twisted and lashing, throated gurgles and gnawing of tongues—silent begging muted screams. Tangled soaring trees insidiously standing afar and reaching for the black heavens, pointing to vanishing blinking stars, enciphering the lush language of listening, with wolves soft approaching pats upon the twigs and wintry pebbles. And there was waves of sludging sirens delivered by oscillating drones driven by devils, angered by angels, washing upon the shore of the cauterizing core from which they slept. But the pyre raged on and wailed and rumbled, snapped and popped…the lupine lopes approached in slopes…low, and slow in pulse.

 

And from the distant eyes of a silent predator pretending to be prey, could be seen the icy breath from writhing men, meeting the wolves and ascending gently and fading—ghosts—fighting to live…

 

Fighting to die.

 

Torn by the cold, dark talons of two worlds. The one you are certain of, the other, the one that awaits.

 

∞