That cold gray mist descends upon the vast vacancy that is this marsh land
the bugs with the birds and toads sing the songs in nature’s plan. The Wolf cries informing all creatures below the hunt as begone, The Pack ensures dinner will be served before the night is done.
Blood and flesh mingle with broken bone crushed by fang and tooth, the snarls and growls signals the feeding frenzy has been set lose. The snorts howls and cries of the creature who was the dinner date, fade back beneath the songs in the calls of nature’s calming state.
The night returns to it’s ebb and flow, for death is as natural as the winds in the breeze that blow.
