The air is heavy with howls and cries,

The hall desecrated with corpses,

A story written in blood and laughter.

Listen to the wailing wind, hear the story it hides.

Baring teeth he stands, the Silver Dog.

The shameless ground drinks his crimson tears,

The powerful hands hold fistfuls of hair with heads free from their prison,

His sword ravenously devoured all those that came in its way.

Blood smeared hands meet smirking lips,

An eager tongue tastes the stained fingers,

A hollow voice escapes, "Sweet"

Eyes twinkle as she watches the rampage.

Strain your deaf ears, open your blind eyes,

The breaking glass lends voice to the mute,

Heaving blades colour the canvas that came to be,

Listen to the tale of the Dog's descent into madness.

"Come for dinner" invited Mother with a gentle smile,

Cradling the sleeping child came the Silver Dog with the lizard in tow.

Small fists grabbed silver hair and drool soiled his kimono,

The evening wind gushed at her blushed cheeks.

With smiling eyes he tried to nudge her awake,

Without stirring she climbed deeper into his bosom,

The lizard smiled in affection,

A peaceful sleep after nights of struggle.

The happy flowers rushed from open palms,

Hugging the lizard's bald head,

Swinging from soft silver hair

And tickling the dreaming child.

"The child can sleep in my chamber", Mother offered,

The treasure was whisked away for safekeeping,

The hot tea frowned in want of attention,

It danced when cool breath blew over it.

The table groaned under the weight of the banquet,

Pristine teeth tore away at the flesh,

Wine raced down throats,

Yet, a silence befell the company.

"You grow weak son", painted lips pressed against glass,

"Eat to your fill, a heart for you"

The steaming aromatic dish sat proudly in its bowl,

"For strength" she nodded as she watched her son eat.

The sweet flesh melted against his warm tongue,

Mother smiled as the bowl lay empty,

"What a shame, both of you take after your Father", she sighed as poured the wine,

Eyes narrowed as she shook her head in pity.

"They can never be part of us", she explained to her stoic son,

"It is a hunt or be hunted world, they are prey",

The wine nervously swirled as a hush sat in,

"They best taste raw", Mother said, more to herself.

Tired of watching the old woman lick wounds,

Tigers cannot change stripes, a beast under the beauty,

"Give me mine and I ask you your leave," the son respectfully bowed,

"Tell me son, how did you like the heart?" lips pulled in malicious smile.