What we believe will kill us. What we believe will eat us alive and spit our bones into the metaphorical dust and in the land of the newly dead who knows what that might mean. Are these the beasts that took Eesha away from us? Do they come from Heaven? From Hell? From some place stranger still, crafted by the dream-prayers of entities that we cannot yet comprehend? What beautiful crystalline structures make them up, what brilliantly impossible angles. Instinct: to colonize the land of the dead with cosmic ideologies

• exude energies of another place
• change a thought, just one
• know that which must not be known

A knee high chicken pecking at you is an annoyance, a tree high chicken is a terror. As such, the chickadon is something to fear. Its thick blanket of feathers renders all but the largest missiles moot and visions of its massive beak descending are the stuff of nightmares. Its giant talons have been know to knock over small buildings and scratch horses into the ground. When a flock of chickadons threatens a village, those who remain gamble with their very lives. Instinct: To fill its belly

• Lay giant eggs
• Fill the air with clucks
• Scratch with mighty talons
• Raise the dust with their wings