The night is quiet. Like a camp before battle. The city beset by a thing unknown and will it come from forest or sea? The murengers have walled the pale, the gates are shut, but lo the thing's inside and can you guess his shape? Where he's kept or what's the counter of his face? Is he a weaver, bloody shuttle shot through a time warp, a carder of souls from the world's nap? Or a hunter with hounds or do bone horses draw his dead cart through the streets and does he call his trade to each? Dear friend he is not to be dwelt upon for it is by just such wise that he's invited in
The night is still and calm, resembling the tense atmosphere before a conflict. The city is threatened by an unknown presence, lurking in the shadows, potentially emerging from either the forest or the sea. The defenses are in place with walls and gates, yet the true danger may already lie within. The speaker questions the nature and appearance of this ominous force, pondering whether it is a weaver of destinies or a hunter accompanied by spectral hounds.
The narrative suggests that dwelling too long on this unknown entity might be inviting its presence. It highlights a deep sense of foreboding and uncertainty, as the protagonist grapples with fear of what might be lurking in darkness. The imagery evokes a chilling sense of mortality and the fragile barrier between safety and danger, ultimately hinting at the vulnerability of life itself.
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