Carrion Crow

I hear you, hopping along behind me,

your weight thudding heavily as you flit from branch to branch.

If I was stronger, I might spare the time to wonder

how a body as small as yours can sound so weighty.

But I am not,

so I don’t.

Is that the sound of your karambit-claws I hear,

as they scratch and scrabble on the branches,

or is that tick-tick-tick the sound

of your rapier-sharp beak being honed

in anticipation?

No.

It is merely the sound of the arrows in my back

knocking against each other as I stumble along the path,

blood pouring down the back of my legs,

pooling in my boots, and

squelching, squelching, squelching

with each weakened step.

So, you fly ahead of me now,

and cock your ridiculously small head in arrogance,

assessing me with obsidian eyes

that see every rip and tear in my tattered skin.

I defy you!

Dare to approach me before I take my last breath

and I will wrap my gnarly fingers around your skinny little neck

and wring it

like you were nothing more than a pathetic chicken

destined for the soup pot!

You may watch.

You may wait.

You may even feast upon my flesh

as I weaken now, unable to continue…

But know this, Carrion Crow,

you will join me in the Halls of Judgment

with your body curled in a of rictus pain

for these arrows in my spine bear Wolfsbane,

which, to you,

will be, Crowsbane!

Carrion Crow

Heart of a Kitten