Three are running on the plain,
Why they do this, cannot explain,
Yet they do this, for millennia now,
Hunt and kill, to chase or prowl.
Hunters born, killers bred,
In the end, their prey’s flesh is shred,
With a spear, a bow and blade
They stalk their prey, in grass and shade
Skin is dark, yet covered in musk,
To conceal better, when they hunt,
Stealth is key, yet not the need,
But to kill better, their creed they heed,
“Kill not, what is defenseless or you do not eat”
“Kill for sport, and for meat”
Also prey must be worthy and strong,
And the hunt, to be hard and long,
Able to kill, and take down any beast,
After which they have a feast,
To taste the flesh of what they slay,
For millennia has been their way,
So when they are hired to assassinate,
Bite marks are found of late,
They are known to take no pay
Only for the thrill of the hunt they pray
For if the prey is not worthy a fight
Their interest in it is not even slight,
‘tis their way, and forever be,
The name they bear is Imakandi.