Hunger

I live the truth of teeth.

Life is a dance of hunger and rest, rest and hunger, light and dark. Hunger devours other wills, leaving only one will, the deepest will, the will of teeth.

The blood of the tree-dwellers tastes like rain, and it spills slow down the lips.
The blood of the brawlers is like mead, bright and sweet on the tongue
The blood of the singers tingles and burns, swimming in the belly and echoing in the bones.
The blood of the seekers is thin and fine - so our stories tell. I have not tasted it. Yet.
The blood of the talkers burns the teeth, but it warms the paws as it wells up and out.

The children of steel taste of rust. Their bones are strange and the marrow thick. They are hard to take - leap! Bite! Shake so bones crack! Clench to stop the wind! And watch for their stings.

Hunger comes from deep in the land, deep in Karia. I hunt in dreams and when waking. The children of steel are hungry and devour and shit it out. They do not learn, they do not grow.

I am hungry, and I eat, and I remember. Those who are within me teach me, their living blood mingling with mine, their last gasps swallowed whole. They move through me, and teach me of their power.

If you have not tasted blood, hot and fresh and flowing, you cannot know. In blood there is memory. In bones the soul dwells. Crack the bones and lick them clean, chew the skin and eat the meat, in the darkness outside their camps, in the shadow of their machines, far from their fire and stings.

I eat, and I learn, and I grow. Karia grows.

I am the hunger of Karia.