Walk along a darkening plain,
Before the setting sun.
And listen to the waking world,
As ink subdues each living song.
Breathe in sweet songs of nightingales,
Pausing within their nests.
And watch as the world transforms itself,
From liquid gold to starlight’s rest.
But soft before silent eyes wake,
Quick as wind make your way back.
For as beautiful as these moors may be,
Something just beneath the surface has awoken.
Make no sound as darkness falls,
Closing in the mortals realm.
Hide behind solid stone and turned lock,
Light fire bright and guard each nook and cranny.
Listen to the yammering wind,
Between rising clouds and fallen stone.
A solitary feral howl echoes,
Hope to gods long gone￼ that it hasn’t found your scent.
Tonight’s a hunt gone wrong,
An hour of hackle and raised teeth exists.
Stay close and silent behind barred door,
‘Tis a Jackal￼’s moon upon the moor.