Scrimshaw

Carved from an ogres tooth
It held magic, old magic
Carved by a shepherd, once a knight
He turned away when the battle was won
The field was littered with bones
Bones of men and ogres
Small and large, thin and thick
Whitish sticks and logs
He stated at his creation
A scrimshaw, carven, wild
It was Pan
It winked at him, it’s ogre magic rife
Or did it
He shook his head, slapped his face
It was a cow’s tooth
They were twigs, sticks, logs
Bleached by rain and sun
There were no ogres
He stood and threw away the tooth
It landed unseen
The shepherd returned to his flock
The ogre tooth play its magic into the soil
Pan smiled from the nearby wood
Pan watched the knight stand alone and call to emptiness
Magic splayed and bones slid slowly into the soil from whence ogres grew

Posted from WordPress for Android by that guy that runs the place

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