She floats on velvet wings, silently, effortlessly, through the waking gray dawn, like a wood nymph, or a butterfly.
The towering giants of the forest nod and bow as she passes, swaying their branches, as loyal subjects do.
Warm breezes of Spring carry her aloft to survey the vast sea of green and the village so far away. She pirouettes with the eagles in stately danse, letting the widening circles carry her toward the farms and the fields. Morning sun warms her downy raven skin.
The world belongs to her and all she surveys, as she skims the tops of the wheat and corn, to loop high again, soaring in cold beauty.
With regal elegance, she regards the peasants emerging from the sleepy town into the waving grain to tend their crops.
She selects a young male, dives unseen toward him and pins him to the ground among the corn stalks, as she has done countless times before.
His blood is warm, and his struggles soon cease.
Submission by Doug Randall
