He's called cold king winter.
Frosted fangs, the blood seeker.
A lone wolf cast from a cracked glacier.
In a land of ice and snow
he does not starve nor grow old,
but follows the scent of flesh
with his gnarled stone nose.

Let him never find your stone heart.
Let your body brace itself as a statue, clutched in its place.
Let your benevolence hide,
shrouded deep inside you,
far away from his ever searching gaze