This is the second time of long light and no sky-fire.
The third? They know only they have stood here before
At the rim of rocks cold when they should be hot,
Staring up at the low grey sky,
Staring down at the beasts filling the valley.
There they come, streaming down the hills
Like water pouring and trickling.
More, more, no room down there for more.
You'd not think beasts that hunt
Could mix and mingle with the hunted,
The hunted not run from their hunters.
The People know
"When beasts run together as one,
When they have gone down the valley,
Then you must leave too."
This is wha t each of them
Is told and must repeat and say again
When they are told their names.
Why? They do not remember.
They are hungry, the People.
The beasts are hungry,
Too nervous to hunt each other,
Crowding and stamping together down there.
There is a slow movement,
They are on the move, all of them.
What a lowing shouting grunting,
What a clashing of tusks,
What a squealing and barking-
Yes, the wolves are running and barking.
What a screaming of birds,
And a thunder, but from hooves and feet.
They are going.
After them whips a wind of stinging ice.
