Necromancer

So paradox on paradox

the circumstances tell

of a hound who dwells in heaven

strange symbols upon the trails seem like forgotten ideograms,

& as my boots stumble upon the dense soil, my mind wanders;

Was it now time for her to question her life choices? Hurt and lost in the fucking backwaters of Honduras. Canine maw parts in heaving breath, pointed ears drawn back in an expression of exasperation, if a dog could make that expression.  The large, spindly pooch hobbled forward , hindered by a pretty sizable wound on a rear leg.  With a final heave of strength the canid finally fell, body coming to rest near a nicely babbling stream.  Well, it was the fucking little things.  

Being grave robber really was a hit or miss job, especially when said graves were filled with booby traps.  No, not traps shaped like boobies, more like shaped like arrows.. and pointy, but not in the fun way.  Liquid amber trails back to pulsing wound, head reaching round to probe the object once again, only to let out a harsh yelp that probably would have been a curse in any other circumstance.  

Fuck!

Besides- Look at what he'd be missing if he stayed cooped up in the royal ruins.

Sensitive senses pick up the copper tang of blood and intermittent whimpers cut through with louder yelps and whines. This would be far from the first wounded animal the hunter has come across. Though, the more he parsed out the sensory messages, the closer he got, he was becoming more suspicious that this may not be strictly beast he was coming upon.

With a visual of the jet black form, he pauses at the edge of the clearing, still shrouded by the dappled shade of the dense canopy. Assessing. No longer as brazen as his younger self, but still just as curious.

A deep sigh left the pooch, nose raising to the air to give a cursory sniff.  Sniff. Sniff.  SNIFF?  The canid’s head whipped around  to stare at the treeline, ears coming attentively forward, staggering to stand, form coming to attention.  Sharp eyes search the dense foliage, wind picking up and aroma strengthening. The canid froze.  That’s not  fucking animal.  

Jack’s hackles raise and a warning growl sounds.  FUCK!