What they see:

They sit together, comfortably silent
As old companions often are.
They know this place well.

The warm Autumn sun strokes their faces gently
As their eyes wander the valley floor 
Which lies contentedly before them,
Its green baize rolling perfectly
Smooth, and soft on the eye.
It is content with its lot,
Has been for millennia past
And will be for millennia to come,
Secure and certain as it is in its valleyness.

An indolent river bids a constant farewell to the small lake,
Deserting its staid placidity for adventures afar,
Carrying its cargo of fevered young salmon,
Making their steady way they knew not where,
To join, at length, their older cousins within 
The dark, tempestuous seas which call to their souls.

The breeze caresses them as they observe the quiet world,
And makes the trees whisper their secrets.
Birds wheel, and sing with exultation the day's joys,
And whimsical butterflies draw rainbow patterns,
Joining the diligent bees, flitting from 
Wild rose to rose, through fragrance-laced air.

By a little bank, young rabbits play with snow-white lambs,
Running and jumping, the glory of life rich within them,
Innocent and uncaring interspecies happiness.
The eyes of the watching trio follow the eagle above, 
Its open talons ready, dropping. 
A shrill squeal, one less rabbit, and innocence 
Stolen forever, happiness ousted by terror.
A life lesson learned at a terrible price.

Two lovers, arm in arm, seeing nothing but each other,
Amble by, laughing and touching,
Their rifles slung carelessly across their shoulders.
Two jealous shots ring out and they fall, endlessly.

A sabre-toothed tiger and her cubs
Drink at the lake, the mother's eyes moving restlessly,
Flashing bright in the sunlight,
Alert to the group of hunters who jog by,
Their spears ready, but looking for larger, easier game.

A chariot suddenly clatters over the ridge,
Aimed straight at a gasping group of fleeing peasants.
Swords flash, screams and gore
Fill the air and then an arrow appears
Deep in the horses throat.
It stumbles, shrieking, and blood foams from its drawn lips.
The people turn, now a merciless mob,
And as the chariot tips they tear its passengers
From limb to limb, gasps turning to savage ululations.

A child appears on the lane running to the lake,
His bicycle chain complaining loudly of its rust.
He stops, drops it carelessly and falls on his belly
His outstretched hands scooping up the liquid ice.

They look up once more as two fighter jets
Play noisy tag along the valley,
Their manic roar rolling down the river's path,
Flustering a mighty oak, breaking the flow
Of his long and complex story of grandeurs 
Seen and gone to inspire his burgeoning acorns
Before they go off to make their own way in the world.

Their eyes return to the river as a dragon-prowed
Ship comes into view, sail flapping loose,
Bearded oarsmen swinging in time to a single drum.
Their unwashed stench crawls brutally up their nostrils
And they pray for the relief only an opposing wind
Or the ship's distance can bring.

As the hunters disappear from view three aged, patched-up tanks, 
Exhausts belching black, rumble over the brow of the hill.
A dilapidated helicopter gunship weaves unsteadily overhead,
Its rockets rushing to their destined and deadly union,
Striking one low. The right track separates and,
As it swings round, a hatch flies open. 
A man desperately throws himself to the side but disintegrates
In the uncaring blast, leaving only a small, love-worn picture
Of a woman and small girl fluttering in the breeze.

From their left they then see two knights in corroding armour 
Ride along the meandering banks of the river,
Herding a group of dishevelled priests and nuns before them.
On the horizon they notice now the burning abbey.
A dark angel flies above the heads of the wailing group, eyes flaming.

Beyond them, skyscrapers distantly flicker through the sun haze,
Windows glinting like fine cut diamonds.
Then, in a moment of clarity,
They witness black taxis swerving round bikes and pedestrians,
Horns blaring, adding to the vibrant cacophony, 
And they feel keenly the vitality of the far off city.

The sabretooth and her cubs finish their drinking
And run up the hill, passing a landing dirigible,
And a herd of woolly mammoths fleeing the hunters,
Their young corralled in the herd's centre,
Thinking their flight a wonderful game.

A bubble appears in the air high above their heads
And a small craft silently slides through, dropping softly
To the valley floor. An alien creature steps out and embraces the oak.
They glance swiftly at each other, 
Confirming that this is most certainly a first.
As their eyes dart back to the scene below,
They quietly ponder its significance
And marvel at its smell and multiple limbs.

They hear a familiar voice calling
And instantly rise to run happily by the burning tank,
Through the blood spattered group of hysterically screeching peasants,
Passing the oak, the hugging alien and its glorious perfume,
Returning joyously to their dear friend.

Suddenly they stop, as one, dead in their tracks
As a dark figure, his face hidden deep in a cowl,
But with eyes like glowing coals,
Becomes firmer and stands directly
Behind their friend, his arm rising, 
A long scythe in his hand.
They have met him before!

Their friend whirls around to see what they have seen
But there is nothing there. 
They snarl together, lips baring their teeth,
And stalk towards what his limited eyes cannot see.
The figure knows them of old and backs off,
Not wishing a reacquaintance with their 
Flashing and familiar incisors,
And fades once more into the background chaos.

They jump about their friend's feet,
Barking wildly and wagging their tails in almost overwhelming joy,
Firm in the knowledge they have saved him again,
And he will live to see another day.

He unknowing, laughs, reaches down and gently pats their heads,
And the little pack, once more united,
Heads slowly through the unseen mayhem
To home and ease in front of a
Sleep inducing fire.