The dogs, restless, barking
and gnawing at the ropes,
egged on by the smells of burnt flesh,
lapping at rivulets of fresh blood.
And crows, crows, crows everywhere
blackening the lowered skies
impatient for the feast
cawing at the resting men.
The blades of grass briefly bent
expectant of rain, and wind,
oblivious already, uncaring,
rising to the men arising.
Songs of fell deeds hummed
knelt down on the riverbank
the swords, cleaned and whetted,
ready for the next raid.
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