|This photo was sent to me, so I do not know the origin or copyright status. If you think this is your pic, contact me and I'll credit you here or I'll yank the pic and try to find a similar one from public domain.|
On the snow covered shores of the Baltic Sea remnants and residue from a battle lay still. A warrior wearing a fur pelt and boots had been killed in battle. His body was stripped of armor, helm, and broadsword by his enemy. But the body was not defiled, nor was it treated with dishonor. The body was left for the sea to take him. Ensuing waves of carrion eaters took turns consuming his flesh. Each leaving less hungry, and covered in his blood. The crows ate loudly, cackling at any oncoming bird or beast. And the snow beneath the warriors body became fully stained red, from the harvest.
The body left for the sea waters to claim, never did reach the water. It was picked clean of flesh, bones broken by dogs and wolves to sup upon the marrow, and the entrails unraveled by the screaming murder of crows, feasted upon, and now gone.
In his life he fought to feed himself, by killing other humans, as a warrior. Now in his death he did something he'd not done in living life, he was feeding others. His goals and dreams were never clear, so he never did anything that would have led to enlightenment. He simply knew how to kill. And since his enemies knew that same skill and talent, it was simply a matter of when and not if, the fallen warrior would pass from existence. With A spackle of brain, or ichors from his entrails painted the shore and snow covering the shore, this warrior who only thought of his own being, never committing to another, for anything but money, fed hundreds of beings.