That Mang the Bat sets free--
The herds are shut in byre and hut
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and tush and claw.
Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law!
-Rudyard Kipling
Shifting, midnight rambling. Frozen whispers chip away, chip away, chip away at the frosty edges of conciousness. Desperate pleadings, the soft grunt, pop and scrape of the switchblade shuffle.
But something new is in the air...
Something...familiar.
Sparks dance along myelin, a twitching, itching ripple up the spine.
Overhead, the stars have collapsed. A searing, flickering void, a low, whining keen that causes a resonance in the skull.
Feel it through the subtle shifting of the crumbling concrete.
It. Is a She.
2 comments:
A -she- hmm? So...disturbing the foundations of your world?
The foundations of -my- world have never been all too terribly stable. Ya wanna come dance on the shattered glass and pea-gravel with me? I'll dip you over the edge of that terrifying precipice and *promise* not to let you go...
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