Drink Up

People are a fickle sort.  Boasting about like proud bucks.  They doe lie there waiting listening to lies, impressed merely by the bucks vocal endowment.

The herd moves in circles looking for a mate, the scent is in the air.  The many come and seek a drink, whilst seldom coming prepared with thirst.  The herd looks ready, it's time to strike, but the herd is no match. 

The stag they seek is not quite stagnant, and move with much quicker feet. This herd hates the weak and leave them there to fend.

In the end the herd was playing a simple game.  As natural and real as it might seem, just to find it was merley a simple game of catch.