Alchemisland

He tracked me, followed me home

Quiet as practice, got close enough to attack me

Would have had me, had he taken his go

I know not the final goal of this vile foe

But in my knowest knowing I evince him twisted, a liar who defiles

Who loathes silent at a distance of miles

Who contorts his face to a facsimile to smiling

Whose wellsprings pale indelible Infinity for breadth and depth, a Titan

Cursed to appear little more than a modest mouse in sight

He tried to get behind me good and tight

All along the dark night, miles and miles, waiting for the perfect moment to strike

A stick snapped and me so wary of Mary’s warnings about bandits turned like a tornado

Caught him red-handed, already my hand fast around the hurl handle

My ash cracked his bone, vein cache paraded from his opened nose

The rain which until now fell faintly but heavily and had cascaded before rising again as vapours

Finally abated, and I saw his face; there, in the glade, two men one blade

Hunter and cornered prey, a scene unknowably ancient

Nobly patient I strove to know him before I smote him

That face my haft would stove

Then my stove fire the stolen half would blend unto smoke.