XIII. The Battle
For hours they waited on the ice and watched the Kraken’s hole
As Galen hungered to avenge the beauty that it stole.
His older friend, beholding the frustration on his face,
Took hold of him. “Stay true,” he said. “This is the proper place.”
Their griffins also rested there. No fear did they display.
In time of greatest danger, they would simply fly away
And hover well above the fray, then, faithful to their call,
Return to take the heroes home, unbothered by it all.
It seemed that nothing happened, then it seemed that nothing would
While Galen tried to reckon what his teacher understood.
He found that he was standing where impatience fears to tread,
Where times of great excitement first by boredom must be fed.
As patience is rewarded in some unexpected way,
The ice began to vibrate. Then the ice began to sway
As from the edge, and looking down to see where he should go,
The hunter saw his target’s head appear from down below.
The eyes he sought were rising only feet from where he stood.
He felt the handle in his hands and tightly gripped the wood.
In one quick thrust, the implement was driven through the foam.
With discipline, he found his mark and drove the spearhead home.
The ice exploded with such force that Galen flew aloft
And landed certain yards from there on something somewhat soft.
The old man underneath him laughed, delighted by it all.
“You did it, boy! Despite my pain, I’m glad to break your fall!”
The two men, still disguised in white and trapped upon the flows,
Observed the Kraken thrash and bleed, imperiled by its throes.
The suctioned arms still rose and fell to crash upon the ice.
The section where they bowed and kneeled was nearly capsized twice.
One slimy arm caught Galen’s calf, and then he felt it slip,
When upward came more tentacles with something in their grip.
The Kraken died as Galen gasped. He recognized the face,
Lost love, once seen from pirate’s mast, still locked in dead embrace.
The two men worked with labored breath, made steamier by toil,
And used their spears with urgency to free her from the coil.
Then reaching into frigid sea, they pulled on her with care
To drag her from her ocean grave and out into the air.
And as the heat of battle through our heroes’ veins still burned,
They heard the sound of screech and wing. The griffins had returned.
Though vengeance had been satisfied, the deed was incomplete.
The men beheld the sorry sight now laid before their feet.
To be continued next Thursday…dot…dot…dot!!
By Robert L. Jones, III, at Pneumythology