As the Slain travels
he listens.
Trill of a warbel bird.
Scolding of a midlar.
Dull "What now? What now?" —
a celedon, with purple eyes,
deconstructing his nest,
preparing to fly
west for the winter.
Another sound
beneath the chatter.
Two-part scratching.
High pitched trill
and raspy echo.
Rapid repeat.
The Slain clears
a layer of leaves.
Reveals a crevice
between tree roots.
Shows Odymn the hollow,
trap for an unwary limb.
The Slain's mouth waters.
Imagines cracking marl
for supper, sucking juice
from the bones.
Parts the fern
above the base
of a second tree.
Listens. Plunges an arm
into the cavity.
Withdraws with a marl,
jointed and nine-legged.
Gangly and blue.
Movements hydraulic.
Holds it by its elbow
so Odymn can see.
Conjures taste-bud memories.
Juices congealed over fire,
dripping in grell butter.
Odymn, vegan,
is horrified.
Accelerated rasp
and crack
of exo-skeleton,
segmented, articulated.
The Slain reaches into the hollow
to grab another marl.
And a dozen
scuttle from the burrow.
He yelps.
Loses his footing,
unbalanced by the tug
of grasping claws.
Vanishes beneath
a froth of slag-fern.