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Hunt

I watch them from the shades, they play at hunt
Those mounted men, hooves echo through the night
Their prey with bloodied feet, her pleading hands in front
Their faces split to grins. Their quarry shakes with fright. 
These sons of Adam caught in nets of lust, just so
They do not know a predator is watching from below.

She staggers back, aghast, with ripping screams from throat
Her foolish hunters follow a scent that’s sweet and fresh
I follow with muddy waters sluicing from my coat — 
The Fuath feasts tonight on Son of Adam’s flesh.
I take their quarry’s hand, I lead her to my lair. 
For first I’ll strike a bargain, and then I’ll taste my fair.

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