Work Text:
We go together riding to the woods.
The night bears down upon our weary eyes.
We're blinded to what lurks around our hoods;
our torches show us nothing from inside.
The horses' beat is steady going forth
towards the trees whose leaves will form our roof -
but we can't hear the steady-growing horde.
Their stealth secure, we won't know when they're through.
The wind blows hard and brings grave threats to us:
remove our hoods and quash our lights, the scent
of blood and dogs. We're almost there - the musk
of deer and taste of dew - it's all been rent.
It's rust and fur and shadows now. The wind
has won the fight. We stand with swords, my friend.