We have assembled inside
This ancient and insane theater,

“Are you hungry?”
The boy had turned his empty head to her and he had done that thing – that deliciously grisly thing he does, when it looks like he is straining to see through those leathery craters in his skull. (She can see the strange, smooth skin undulate inside the hollows, the way closed eyelids roll with the movement of the balls behind them.) He is so like a cage, her brother-boy, containing something mighty and fitful.

And it is beautiful. And it had been hungry.
It is a force she does not understand but she has tamed it. (In her dreams she wraps herself in his stripes and fangs, his pelt draped over her back.) She had warmed it in her palms until, soft and malleable, it gave itself to her. Her boy. So when he became himself in full, he slunk back to her and cried. Tears she had dried with her kisses and assured him he was special.
Her little conqueror.

(‘She is this way,’) Wind had said. And he brought the smell too.
(‘She is not alone.’) But that wasn’t a surprise.
She is a fallen woman.

“Do you know who that is?” she looked him in his no-eyes.
“I think I know the smell,” he replied, softly.
“No. You don’t. Don’t worry.”

* * * *
She returns with two.
She is amassing little bodies, if nothing else, where she has sequestered herself in the pinewood. She fancies them hers, of course. This one is little better than the girl, unfortunately. Plain, very much like herself in color and shape (they get it from their mother; brother-boy gets all of himself from dear daddy) – maybe it is only because he is a thing poached like treasure, with great pains and effort and shrill screams, that she lets him sidle too near to her and lean on her leg. 
He is lame, but she supposes, as Crone had squealed and reared back like a stuck pig, she had tweaked his little leg.

The colt flinches away from the wiry big cat. He lays down with a heavy sigh at her feet, running his rough tongue over his paws.
The red woman watches him with keen fascination.
He is meticulous. “Why don’t you help brother?” she coos. He hauls his heavy body up, she watching with pride as his shoulders round and flex and his thighs ripple beneath his exotic skin. She can hear the colt making small, nervous noises as his brother moves in on him.
(He sinks his large teeth into the bay’s neck. Cutting off the air until his tongue lolls and his belly is ready to be opened.) Ribcage makes soft, chuffing sounds as he reaches out to bat the boy to the ground, holding him down with his strong paws and cleans the dry blood and birthing fluids.