time went by like a glacier, inching forward with ponderous weight, gradually as the sun rose and set. in his position, the brute was a parade of solemn absence. insentient and bloodstained by the hues of violence, he had rotted in the solitude of the woodland. breaths as frivolous as murmurs of the nightfall, decimated into the eerie atmosphere, unpuzzling within the stretches of the breeze whilst carrying the grave weight of the lamentable breaths he insufflated. he was a lamb in a den of lupines, powerless and laid bare, he was coddled in the mushy parcels of moss, swarmed by the flocks of flies that time to time mopped through and studied the carcass. all drawn by the pungent and rotting stench of his sweet blood drifting in the mingling presence of nature.

and as time flowed, the environment morphed by the hands of time. the moon surrendered its celestial dominion to the impending dawn. the subtle, diminishing nocturnal sounds endowed the stirring morning songbirds to cheer their melodies whilst the atmosphere beamed with the delicate hues of dawning, elucidating the once tenebrous woodland with its warmth and light. but also, apprising the brute's still, breathing carcass and the paddles of blood the moss had sponged in.