The Hunt

As it danced before him, he wondered.
He sat there, waiting for it to bend.
He knew it would return, and when it did...
The scenario would come to the end.

He watched as the tongues twisted
in their bright and unusual ways.
He knew, just like before,
that his waiting could take days.

He fed it some more of what he found,
when he went hunting in the woodland that day,
and took focus of how it reacted,
for this was the the last of his pay.

The tongues ate at it quickly,
not caring to thank the old man,
for it knew of his insanity,
and knew that he had a plan.

So, the tongues feinted defeat,
and gave to him what he desired.
And the man, blinded by beauty,
lunged into his own pyre.