"'Twas the sentry set the fire, malady." -Midday- Each suitor comes directly, Each kneels and prays Guards sweep them through the doors, One by one. Today the butcher comes, Today the smith delivers, Today the King... ... No, not today. A light shines in the distance. Browny birds cackle in the trees. -Night- Malady picks flowers in the evening. Calico darlings follow her And others. The Devil has his way, Makes her skirt pieces flutter In the wind And she is lost. Muffled screams for something wrong. Away, away, into the vestiges of dusk. -Morning- There is a scattering on the hill. A decision For the elders For the fate of Him. -Midday- Warlocks come into tavern, recanting spells: A towering, silvery man in red coats, The self proclaimed 'Bane of Angels,' Various lots of potioners and exiles. They ask for wine. They demand Taren. "He is to die," the men explain. The smell of waste and urine is strong. This is a place where loss reeks. A sapling unsheathes his blade, Recklessly assaults the party, And he falls, A lad's eye destroyed By the powerful staffs "Take us to the hill! NOW!" The man in coats barks. Mice dodge the boots and coattails. The group, Led by two men, Calmly exits. -Night- There are throngs upon the hill. They are restless for a signal. The young man is bound and blinded, But he does not stir For the strong winds Or struggle against the guard’s grip. “Tear the bastard open!” “Run him through! That boy’s a murderer!” The mass knocks together for a better view. Whores call to Taren in mocking voices. “Oh murderer! Take ME into the forest; The princess was but a novice, my dear!” And then...a gasp. Faint figures stride over the horizon, As an evil swarms in their wake.