The Book of Weston

I see her dark figure rise

to the small summit of dirt,

pushed to the side of an unfinished road

on the outskirts of my neighborhood.

Her raven hair cascading down

the small of her back, she plants her feet

wide and stares down at me,

a queen surveying her kingdom.

In her right hand: a tomahawk:

thick branch, wedge-shaped stone and twine.

Wearing moccasins, khaki shorts,

and a fluttering crimson tank top,

she is backlit by sun, a golden halo

around her darkened face.

I am transfixed. She descends,

revealing skin untouched by the sun

and stoic black eyes extracting

information from my startled face.

She approaches, and I inhale

her scent of sweat, campfire smoke, pine straw.

Her voice is soft but subtly threatening,

and she keeps a tight grip on her weapon.

I share my name and she shares hers.

It rolls off her tongue like the sound

of something slipping over the edge of a chasm.

I tell her I'm a runaway;

she nods and leads me to her camp.

At dusk, she leaves for far too long. I search

in twilight woods and soon

am lost, but hear the leaves crunching nearby.

Frightened, I crouch behind a boulder.

The sound stops. I squint but cannot

see. Instead, I hear a baby crying, so out of place

in these dim woods,

then from the gloom, a golden fawn

emerges, limping, glancing around, lost.

Its leg hangs off the ground, twisted

at an unnatural angle.

The creature cries and fresh goosebumps

fill my arms. It freezes,

and its face points at me, and I am anchored

in its pure black eyes

until a crow caws above us,

and the creature looks up, and a larger shape

rises from the ground behind it.

I shrink back, the fawn glances at me

and I want to scream

a warning but there is no time,

only a whoosh, and the fawn's gaze

disconnects as it falls.

The dark assassin raises its arm

again and again, chopping

into the creature as it squeals and struggles,

and a finger of blood rises feet into the air,

and splashes onto the dead leaves.

With one more blow, all is silent.

I back away as the black shape rises

and her sweet voice calls my name.

What'd you do that for? I respond.

Dinner, she says before dislodging her weapon

from the fawn's throat.

It is madness but I fear her, love her more.