The raven graces the field below
now the land of the dead
no finger twitches among the mass
all their throats bared and bled
She perches herself upon
the rotting horse of the commander
who lays not an inch away
as his mount becomes the raven’s lure
Then she looks up, distractedly
from her bountiful feast of entrails
at the woman across the way
who acknowledges the bird with a hail
Black waves ripple on her shoulders
carefully walking through the carnage
soaking in the violence around her
as she side steps a severed appendage
Her blue eyes radiate coldness
callousness and distance
her iron will and figure
having never met resistance
“Well met my good friend
merry meet and merry part
tell me who had begun this affair
this truculence that has touched my heart?”
The black wings of the bird of death
quiver as she embraces the sky
and returns shortly after
as gravity and weightlessness vie
“This impertinent fool has deigned to beg of my help?
Surely there is one better than this disgraceful whelp?”
The youth’s lifeless body
rises and then falls
uncovering the man below
no longer covered by fleshly walls
“Much better my dear friend
much more worthy indeed.
Know you not who stands before?
That which has helped you in this deed?”
His drooping mouth and blank stare
betray only one emotion within
fear of the unimaginable,
faced with every sin
“Know you not my name, lad?
That to which you have paid a fee!
Tell me, lad, who I am,
the very name that I heed.”
His face grew grayer still
his eyes flat and dim
his voice ripped from his throat,
“The Morrigan!”