Half a dozen, all answering summons,1
whether by heart or by head.
And together they drank and they listened2
Each driven by hope; love; ambition.
Brought together by a woman, a God perhaps
Told of a giant boar driven mad by the Storm,
It was a test to decide who to trust in.
And, for Thylea, she all but implored them:
Bring the beast down,
By magic, by sword,
Bring the beast down,
By luck, or by more.
On the next morning, by its lair they met,
Joined by hunters, traps were prepped,
Until it reared out, eyes blazing and red.
A first battle, the group jumped in, and said
Bring the beast down,
By magic, by sword,
Bring the beast down,
By luck, or by more.
Quick work, blows with javelin and fire,
Bringing it ever closer to demise
The madness in its mind, its eyes
Makes for a pitiful thing, for all its power.
But pity beware, for teeth bared,
The piteous no blows withheld.
One felled. One felled. One felled.4
Two stayed, one stirred.
To the sight of the beast brought down
By magic, by sword,
Brought down, brought down
By luck, or by more.
And as the beast fell, its mouth wide open,
A threat, not its own, dispensed
Of Sydon’s fury, his scorn, and contempt;
For those known as the Oracle’s Chosen,
Who brought the beast down,
By magic, by sword,
Brought down, brought down
By luck, or by more.