In Our Words Canadians Reading Together

The attack came so close from the side that all he saw was a blur out of the corner of his eye. Only his survival instincts and his natural athletic ability saved his life. He crashed forward into a half somersault and half leap to clear the boar’s razor sharp tusks. He was back on his feet so fast that it was hard to believe a man could move that quickly. The grass was waist high here, and the boar had disappeared into it, so he had no way of knowing from which direction it would attack next. Swiftly he turned in a circular motion, his eyes frantically searching for the slightest sign of movement, his ears straining for sound.

The second attack came from behind. It was so swift that he barely had time to turn and strike with his spear. As a result, the pig was cut from the side of the neck across its shoulders and onto its side. The blood sprayed freely from the open wound. Squeals of pain could be heard from the pig as it disappeared into the wild African grass. Then there was silence. Quickly the hunter was on his feet again desperately trying to figure from which direction the next attack would come. His face and chest were covered in the boar’s blood along with his own, for the boar had cut him across the right hip with one razor-sharp tusk. Although the wound was hanging open and stinging quite horribly, he gave it little notice.