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Don't Worry

de Copper Matriarch

As they would cross wheels
As they would polish rust
As one cut from the herd
The Huntress in pursuit

Pressing faster, unscathed
Racing through branches and thorns
Eyes sting from the wind
Teeth clenched

The prey: overtaken
Treachery: to be repaid
Vengeance: the sweetest trophy
Honor: to be regained

Strike charges the air
The air, mingled with crimson
Crimson flows to the stream
Drink deep, victorious one!

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