The hours have turned. A slow drone hangs in the air. It is almost daylight and the leader of the pack is awake and poised. Rising from the shadows they survey the terrain, backs arched and ready to strike. It has been a restless couple of days and sleep has not been a gracious visitor. The thick foliage is enough to cover their tracks but not thick enough to mask the growls slowly ebbing from their throats. One can barely breathe as the scent of blood fills the air. The prize is yet to be won and the hunt is on.
At sundown the dense forest will hide whatever has transpired. Perhaps heavy rain will wash away what should not have been. The wind will carry the tale and yet will be most inaccurate. My children will rise again another day, proud as ever, cunning and quick. Pray you do not encounter their wrath but only bear witness to their greatness.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
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