In Our Words Canadians Reading Together

Patiently he sat, searching the surrounding area until his dark eyes caught a slight movement far to the left of where he sat. Very slowly and carefully he raised his well-muscled body into a half-stance as he began to move out from behind the thorn thicket. The combination of sweat and early morning sun made his dark body glisten. He continuously searched the area with his steady gaze not only to identify what had made the movement but because he himself could very quickly become the hunted instead of the hunter if he were not extremely alert. At least the wind was in his favour and whatever was down there would not get his scent, at least not right away, and this might make the difference between eating and not eating. Slowly he started to go down and towards the left.

He was getting very close to where he had seen the movement and he had now slowed to a snail’s pace when the first sounds reached his ear. He stopped and strained to hear. The noises he was hearing sounded like wild boar. The thought of hunting one of those animals made his stomach muscles tighten in mild fear and trepidation. Even a skilled hunter like himself didn’t relish the thought of hunting wild boar. The animal was not overly intelligent, but it could be relentless and vicious in its attacks. It seemed not to have the fear of man that other wild animals do, and it would attack without hesitation. The smell of blood, even its own, would send it into a vicious killing frenzy that nothing short of death could stop. The long dagger shaped tusks could tear a man to pieces in seconds.

Slowly he moved toward the sound. Nervously and perhaps unconsciously his hand tightened around the spear in his right hand. If he accidentally dropped his spear, the only weapon he would have left would be the bullhorn in the leather sheath around his waist. This also doubled as an instrument when one needed to call for help, if anyone were close enough to hear.