Young leopards in the dawn,
gambolling gay upon the lawn.
I was afraid. I was so full of sleep,
and as I lay still the sun leapt at me,
stung me, so fear ran right through.
The kittens rolled and jostled
and my blood shook, and my error.
I slept on, then as I turned on my pillow
I saw him, an old lion, collar broken,
on the cliff above, making his way towards me,
down the dark forested rock face
through layer upon layer of old memory
in ruins, miles and miles about me,
memories hidden from, memories that lay in wait.
I turned to look at this dread place,
and felt my spirit slip slowly away.
Suddenly from the trees behind me,
a she-wolf, gaunt and famished.
Merciless, wistful, hungered,
little by little she came towards me,
edged me in, white fanged, malignant.
I was her prey.
Closer now, her smell, her teeth, her tongue,
fur and head. I backed away,
slipping, falling down through thorns and brambles,
darker down to where the sun is mute.
I tried to rise, and stumbled, and as I fell
I saw a figure, just a glimpse, a shadow almost.
I called out. I would normally never have dared,
but the wolf waiting, and coming closer
and I called out again,
the figure stopped and turned
to confront me,
and me ready to run if I could,
and the wolf was watching,
waiting for my weakness.
And now the other.
I looked at her, her face, her strength,
standing, turned towards me,
a forester, like a young thick set birch
in rough shirt and knee breeches, barefoot,
face alive, sharp, powerful, old.
“You can’t stay here,” she said.
“That wolf will rip your legs,
the lion will take you, tear the flesh from you
and suck you in its jaws.
And the young leopards will gnaw your bones.
You will be a chewed plaything,
your innards a wet mess.
That skull of yours will be a ball
to be kicked around and bitten into.”
I looked up at her – she was the only person here.
She said, “Follow me now, out of this murky place.”
I had no choice; I was glad to be with another.
We walked together, her first, me after,
stepping slowly, not a word between us.
As we climbed I saw the lion rise and turn above us
and the wolf, grey and stealthy, skirting our direction,
seeming to know our plan, ready to cage us in.
The forester would stop to look
as if to smell the beasts stalking us,
and then direct our path onward.
“It is the wolf that is the worst of the three.
She lets no man past.
She will follow you to your death.
It is her calling, her constant appetite for destruction.”
I looked at her, as she stood,
her hands worn and gnarled,
her body strong, yet bent.
I thought, you are not from here.
I watched her face, and then asked,
“I have seen no one here, only you –
how come, just you alone?”
She looked away, then she to me,
“It is you that is alone.
There is no one here of your body, except yourself.
I am what is not recognised, the dust in your eyes,
when the wind blows from the desert.”
“But I know your world,” she added.
“I have cut trees there too.
I have walked in your forests.”
“But where are we,” I asked,
“isn’t this my world?”
“This is a waste,” she said.
“Those that come here are to be torn
and gorged upon, their blood sucked,
their bones crushed, their hearts drawn up
through their throats.
It is the place of terror.
So keep close to me if you are to get out.”
“Get out, to where?” I asked.
She didn’t answer straight away,
but continued, as we walked,
“When we leave this valley,
if we outwit the she-wolf, we come to places
where you will be witness to such despair
and those you meet will be all dead.
This is life’s darkness.
They will be your people and other people.
I will take you through to the edge line of this vastness
and from there another must show you the way.
At that point I cease to be.”
And she shook slightly as she spoke.
The Comedy Project 
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