Snaking through the forest, slinking among the leaves, a dark shadow creeps with ease.
Silent and foreboding, it showss no sign of strain, reached out to catch like the striking crane.
No movements wasted it catches its prey with tendrils of black, restraints coming in from the back,
a single cry rings out in the night, form lost in a futile fight, the Nara showed their might.
They carried that large stag, antlers priced by the pound, towards a small camp that they had found.
They were then met with a most terrible sight, a striking difference causing great fright,
chakras ablaze, physics they defy, everything changing in the blink of their eyes.
From shades of purple, grey, brown and blue, save for one, only crimson now showed true.
The stag lay among the grass, forgotten for now, left by its hunters to rot like a single mad cow.
That loner among them looked to his left and to his right, to see his family now gone from his sight.
His brown eyes fell upon the stag, soulless eyes returning the gaze, forever filled with a cloudy haze.
Despaired by what seemed a vain death, the loner took up the stag, taking up that dark flag,
carrying with him the stench of his deeds, to seek out his countrymen, return them to the Nara den.
But alas it was too late, the camp abandoned, the fire having been carelessly doused.
The loner wept till his cheeks were dry, a result of the great salt from every streak that flowed like a creek.
Then the loner saw his prize, antlers still ready for market, the meat still good, thick like a thicket.
He struck the fire, set it ablaze once more, removed the antler and set on one final chore,
in the cackling flame the meat simmered, attracting others lost in the dark, fearful of the crimson mark.
They all gathered about the fire, and told tales of their lost families and friends, gone with the new trend.
That loner wept at every tale, and so did the entire assembly, a dog and a cricket agreed verily,
that the crimson tide had brought their world low, taking joy and merriment with its flow.
When all the meat was done and the fire dimmed, the assembly dispersed, leaving the loner to his own roast,
feeling blame for the loss of his kin. With new resolve the man carried on, knowing that he would not drown forgotten.
He set forth to catch more stags and maybe some does, using wit and terrain to take down most foes,
using the shadows to cover his tracks for some, admitting defeat only when truly done.
The man became known for his use of shadows far and wide, respect granted without fratricide,
though few returned to the forgotten camp, even fewer newcomers tread, calling themselves Nara with him as Head.
Each stunned by the man's prized antler, proudly worn upon his head, like a crown to match his cred
obtained with his family, who left back at camp, borne and kept by that lone Nara scamp.
He hides in the shadows that he bends at will, taking all in the night, like his very first kill.
~ Eric Nara
