As a demon astir, it passes, swift and silent, over the darkening land, searching eyelessly the pitch and texture of its world, ( tonal shapes sensed and analysed, endless odors identified and catalogued: a healing forest with residues of fire acrid beneath the scents of new growth; the sour sting of swampland; the pulse and flavour of a distant storm; the copper pungency of agitated fear as knowing anxiety ripples through the herd)  to feed.