They crouch, silent and statutory

With one knee on the ground

And the other raised, prepared to spring

Should their trained eyes and paranoid ears

Alert them to other beings

Their hands rest lightly on the sun warmed gravel,

palms down to support their weary forms.

He lowers his head, ducking further into the brush

Which is cracked, and dry, and scratches his skin.

His eyes remain seeing; oblivion does him no good.

They're out there, waiting for him and his brothers.

A twig snaps somewhere, anywhere

But that's all that he needs

They spring, more like animals than humans

Quickly gaining speed as their muscles respond

To the well-known signal to flee.

Arms pumping, hair flying, lungs bursting

And their hearts are trying to run, also.

They don't look back, having learned from Lot's wife

And only grab more desperately at the faith

That a new hiding spot is feet away.

They collapse into new, familiar territory,

Aching, hot, and out of breath.

You'd never know this occurred, though;

The entire hunt, they've not made a sound

Because they know what's at risk.