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Walk in the Larl Wood
By Javlynn
The heart is light this day, off hand ....
One casual day in a far off land.
The dreamy breath of night, gone at last.
The sun shines warm as the arns pass.
Walking gracefully in a lovely wood ....
The fleer sleeping, the nights hunt good.
The kites and warblers singing bright,
happy but ready to quickly take flight.
The day bathes the walker in a dreamy daze ....
oblivious of danger and the passing gaze.
Silent footsteps of a graceful rhyme ....
not a care, a lark, for the briefest of time.
With sudden passing glance, the larl is seen,
trailing in the wood, the eyesight keen.
Waiting the moment, the best time to close ....
waiting to strike terror, wence it goes.
Where once the day was happy and gay,
fanciful, breathtaking, now dreary and gray.
The heartbeat races, the pulse grows quick,
fighting the fear that grows ever so thick.
What manner of larl is this one, so near?
The terror mounts, with anxiety and fear.
Danger makes panic, too great to fight ....
effort is needed to keep her from flight.
Thought of dark death, rises to spread ....
knowing the walker could soon end up dead.
Overpowered and stricken by a deadly force,
desperation flows, then runs its course.
At last the inner calm is found ....
poise replace terror, her training ground.
A vow once taken to catch the breath,
and fight off the fear to its very depth.
Without really looking she examines the larl ....
tall, grizzled, deadly, with an angry snarl.
Arms scarred with badges of battles once paid,
hand clutched strongly round a savage blade.
The walker moves slowly, now hatching a plan,
This isn't the larl, but a predatory man.
Remember your lessons, remember your skills,
remember the dagger, the poison that kills.
Finding the moment, determined to slay.
No, this angry larl will not have me today!
Taut muscles find quiva strapped to the arm.
Glad father once taught her to use it with harm.
Moving with quickness she whirls in her place ....
cold killers dispassion courses her face.
Ready to throw the death she now holds ....
pulls back the arm to its terror unfolds.
Suddenly stunned, arms pinned by its fist,
another larl captures her, a larl she has missed.
Grasped tightly, secure, unable to escape ....
the girl will know now, will forever, be rape.
The first larl snarls, comes ever so near,
The second larl laughing, sensing all of her fear.
Her struggles are futile, she can't get away.
She knows the two larls, will have her this day.
The smell of the breath, and a drunken saga.
Sickly sweet tang of cheap bosk and paga.
With rotted tooth smile, and eyes from the pale,
reaches an angry claw higher to strip off her veil.
The claw comes closer, nearly close as a hort ....
grimy nails reaching for it's own kind of sport.
The evil laugh rising to a fever pitch,
Growls a low growl about, a slave my free bitch.
Just as her hope rushes out with her youth ....
just as forced anger, confronts bitter truth.
The sound of the arrow slips past trembling head,
the gruesome larl before her turns bright bloody red.
An instant later, she finds herself free ....
from captive position, her heart now says flee.
The second larl staggers a drunken pace,
ebbs out its life, falling down in its place.
Turning and looking from wence arrows past,
A tall cloaked figure, holding tautly curved ash.
Face half covered by a dark green hood,
dissappears quickly into dark dense wood.
The heart is light this day off hand ....
one casual day in a far off land.
The zads above circle, sensing carion slay.
The walker runs quickly, alive, another day!
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