"The woods are lovely, dark, damp, and deep. They hold many things and take to your grave the secrets that you keep. The earth beneath their roots have bellyfuls of swollen meat, the crows are circling above, savoring the sweet treat. They dive and soar gliding on a stale breeze, they move effortlessly down through the bough of the trees. And when they are perched upon your shuttering frozen shoulder, the gleam in those witch cauldron specks, wait patiently, sinisterly eyeing you until you draw your last forsaken breath. And when you finally feel all hope drain from your body, your final thoughts are that of you wish to be no creature’s meal, but if only you would have told someone, that you were to wander within the dark wood, but now you still. Paralyzed by regret, as the crows lunch lies beneath his talons, finally dead. It gives a hearty triumphant caw! Snapping its beak into waning warm flesh, the last thing one saw is the spindly arms of the trees, mockingly pointing at another victim that will decay beneath its depths."
----The Wolf : by F0rce0fnatur3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
