The Hunter

She stalks the night, until the day shatters
Restless steps circling a verdant grave
Ebon footsteps prowl forward, searching, wandering
Shrouded in mist, she is alone
The woods whisper a song of solitude, roaring in her ears
Leaving behind a memory rusted with age
And nothing else
Dew drops flicker to life and swirl
Empyrean spheres teeming in the night
The darkness blooms forth
As she steps out into the hollow of the soul
The sole among towers
A trickle, faint
She marches, eyes piercing the black
The twilight piercing her

But then, she sees it
A pale silhouette against the night and the silent water
Mist and trepidation fills her lungs
She readies her bow
Ready to strike out into the gloom
A gloom so thick with horror, it ensnares
The arrow tip glows in the moonlight
An effulgence against the shadow
Silence screams
Waiting for her to feel the dark

The arrow flies through the umbral shade
Rending the silence asunder
The wind cries out in anguish
Crimson drops spatter the forest floor
It does not lash out
It does not scream in terror or agony
It merely falls
And silence rises once more
The radiance dying away
She steps into the abyss
And is swept away
The weald weeps
Flowing into the obsidian river
Flowing into the day

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