most run from them.
most die with teeth in their ankles and arrows in their backs.
most do not chase them.
( what does the northern man seek, little lamb? )
it is in due time all shall meet them - paths begin, and paths end. they have met those who sought their end - cups of poison, stolen breath, rivers of red.
when they greet them, they speak to the lamb. her voice is soft, ashen, woolen. she asks how one can so eagerly seek the end.
( a purposeless purpose. )
those who die by hand - not arrow, not teeth - do not seek it violently, carving meat and bone to find the right corpse to die in. snow, and ice, and grey, sleet stone - covered in blood. the northern man's axes are sharp, and can tell a different story in every angle of light.
this beast comes from an icy basin in the north. it is rumoured to not be real. they are familiar with rumours with contrary.
the northern man has other men with him. they have seen these men, just as they have seen their leader. they will meet many of these men today, personally, and they will all feed the wolf's hungry maw.
they dance outside the vision of these men. there is acid on the tongue of the beast they draw from the water. if it is killed, its scales can be sold for tools. its eyes can be frozen in true ice for a prize.
the acid burns the northern man when he charges and swings. it leaves a mark on his left arm. he grins, and believes this will be the way he dies.
( burnt, though not by flame. )
( cook him and eat him! )
each soul finds itself marked. each soul is taken, carried, devoured. she whispers a song and he feels his own tongue ache.
the northern man is not dead.
he pries his axe from the gill of this creature.
( how will we chase this one? )
( wolf - we run. )
the lamb holds an arrow in her strings.
i pity him, she does not say.
she draws it. she fires. the wind brushes his bearded face, and they will see him again.