A mantle of leaves rustles in the wind.

The Shadow stays not.

Robes flutter.

The Hunt is upon him.

Stag or Man,

Demon or Angel,

One thought prevails:

Escape.

He hears a cloud pass overhead,

Run...Run now!

He moves like the night;

Sleek & dark,

Silent & deadly.

He feels their excitement;

Their undoing.

And as he clears their passage

he smiles; remembering his cause

& his punishment.

At last he reaches the wood.

He swears this will end the running

as he awaits his destiny.

For battle is at hand;

He shall make his last stand -

For this is Confrontation.