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.