Agreed that Merrasir would come for him

  Next morning, sure to hide the farming tools

  Khazemil set his jaw, despondent, grim

  And wound back to his home amid the fools

  All bound by those supposed ancient rules

  “Oh Khazemil, without me, what to eat?”

  The vague internal voice did not repeat

  That night the lightbulb’s sickly yellow haze

  Found praise from Khazemil, a longing word

  “Return! I miss the perfect golden blaze!”

  For in its death, beyond the circle stirred

  A rising sound, a murmuring absurd

  The rumbling of wind on shattered walls

  The eyes, the empty eyes and waterfalls

  “I wished for different visions, now I see

  Obsidian and blood so far away!

  The mask! In crying blood it speaks to me;

  A fox’s mask, then death to disobey?

  What eidolon rokhem—I pray to prey?”

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  Enveloped in the swelling, formless noise

  Blood contours of the mask held counterpoise

  Quite suddenly, a rush from just behind

  A jarring crack, his hindpaws shook and slipped

  Collapsing through constructions in his mind

  The fox saw fleeting scenes, a charnel crypt

  Before the stones, ink, blood, and bones were ripped

  He heard a step, he shot up from his nest

  The dog was there to rouse him from his rest

  “We must forsake the village, Khazemil.”

  “The punishment is never to return!”

  “Your fear is not misplaced, but even still—”

  “The ancient spirits wander there and yearn—”

  “Stop. Khazemil, the field has to burn.”

  The fox looked at his friend, whose jaw was set

  And felt his neck-fur rising at the threat

  But Merrasir was ready, moving back

  Between the fox and scythe he stood in place

  “Get dressed, and make yourself a travel-pack.

  We must maintain a fast and steady pace,

  For I expect an unrelenting chase.”

  With that, the dog swept out and took a breath

  For he had seen the selfsame eyes of death

  “No, Khazemil! Without me, what to eat?”

  “Be quiet, lying voice, the day has come.”

  “What spirits would you foolishly deplete?

  Your everything, young fox, tradition from

  The ancients carries quite a heavy sum.”

  “How could I see such truth from on my knees,

  When I have never gone beyond the trees?”