His ascent is slow,

Those heavy feet now so light as they climb.

He turns his great, shaggy mane and says not a word

Even as they push their faces toward him.

With spite in every face

He watches them from sad, tawny eyes.

The white face is most prominent of all,

Cool, pale as an overcast sky

Ruthless as artic wind

Chiselled as rock face

She raises a blade

They cheer

Down in the bushes

They watch with wide eyes,

Reaching out

Across

One with her ivory horn

The other with a bottle in a clenched fist

The white face is closed

Like breathing a drug

The knife in flesh is her toxin

It has gone in deep.

It has made its mark

They are gone,

The two in the bushes weep

Bury weary faces in the fierce proud face

Then the stone cracks

And all is undone.

Far away, a battle rages,

And where one leads the army

The other makes up lost deeds.

It is done now

It is done.