Beastriders
From the shore we watch
The beastriders plying their trade.
They charge into the watery arena, waiting for it to yield its monsters.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a great, blue behemoth rears its white head.
Feigning retreat, our heroes paddle like mad,
Only to be caught on its great, round brow.
There, they stand, mastering the elemental demon,
Twisting and turning with its every move,
Gliding effortlessly upon it,
Riding back to us on its great, white head as it crashes, dead, into the sand
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