The Lament of the Animals
O help! O help! O help!
We are suffering to the marrow of our bones
Food is scant as though it does not exist
We can do little but bear the hunger, thirst and endless pain of
This era of the darkest mist
Our home, the Forests are fast vanishing
Our home, the Great Seas are warming enough to have us all fried
We are tormented by someone,
We do not know if they be the gods of yore.
The gods who had us created...
And so have every right to have us vanquished...
But no, we know the gods,
Their ways are different,
And this is no work of gods.
Our tormentor is not them.
There is a veiled rumour, one that we speak of only in whispers.
It is of an ape,
A strange ape with no hair.
Brothers who swear they saw it say,
‘It wields no weapons of teeth or of long razor nails or brute muscular force.’
All in all, it is visibly weak.
But there other rumours as well,
Of this being a hundred times gruesome and powerful than all of us combined.
It is said to challenge even its makers, the gods of yore who made everyone and everything.
Could this creature of the dark be our culprit?
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