The creatures are hiding

The forest is dense

Large birds are flying

Nothing makes sense


Nine they are

The number for luck

The way is so far

Are they stuck?


They have a week and a half

To get off the island

To bring the staff

To the beaches of sand


Where one bird flies by

Once a day

Up into the sky

What can they say?


Down to eight, so soon

The home guard is dead

There is no mood

And their hopes feel like lead


The darter has struck

Their leader, their trust

They have run out of luck

To continue they must


Now seven from nine

Do they stand anew?

They will go on fine

Through the swamp, the Inju


The scat and the squeek

Have found her tune

They now have a week

There is still no moon


Down to six

Their hopes are gone

They are in a fine fix

For there is no song


The demons have found them

And five they are

The seer was with them

So they are


Alone with five

And the scat and squeek

Now four are alive

With less then a week


They find him dead

Three now around

It is said

There is no sound


Two are alone

He turns to fight

He lets out a moan

While she starts a light


The bird returns

Flies to land

She has learned

He is her hand