Small and agile,
lightning quick,
weapons ready--
tail-tip flick.
Watch the hunters
scout their prey;
glance at each other,
and silent say,
It is the moment--
the time is right.
They race and leap
swift and light.
The herd is nervous
--they sense there's wrong
--they snort and fidget
terror song.
One's been selected.
One is doomed.
One darts in panic--
a sudden bloom
of coelophysis
through the pack.
They zip and hurdle,
land on his back.
The creature stumbles,
barks in fear.
The herd heads elsewhere--
death is near.
Claws come down.
Teeth traps shut tight.
He thinks to struggle,
he tries to fight.
He is astonished--
villain small--
and then he looks
and sees them all...
Time seems so short
and nature cruel.
The herd is distant.
A crimson pool...
He feels their hunger.
There is no hope.
The pain is numbing--
the world a slope.
The creature's fallen,
his death is close.
Brought down by chance--
by a pack of ghosts.