Dragoncrest Cliffs we are still trained killers

he’s sent off on a small errand;
fetch a meal for the starveling.
he had the good sense to nod,
and in silence leave
for the rounding figurine of the cache
where meat was stored in
earth’s dark and gravid belly.

he passes chacal
equally as borne down by the weight in her belly
and returns with a half eaten fish
its scales clouded with dirt

he clears his throat and leaves it
giving the sea-mothers their space
as a new child is welcomed to their fold.