Gaunt grunt. He had no idea how long he would bank on the sassy sword. The purpled eyes of heaven was rehearsing her intensity on the altar of his temple, but the leopard contending with him spared him no moment to nurse such pain. He was bent on killing it. It was also bent on killing him. What do? A cliche! Killing wasn't a new or hideous act to him. It was matter-of-factly his oxygen. And tell, who can survive without oxygen. He only was having fun with it, but the gore its pestering paw had left on his arm would never made him spare it. 

     He wasn't with his god-damned spear. It could have been easier. Just an aim who'd brought the passionate panther down. What annoyed him mostly, was the fact that the leopard felt proud. His retina canvassed that as they swelled per sumptuous snarls. He could decode the rhythm of the jaws. It was tantamount to saying, who's-the-clown-dancing-before-and-who's-his-drummer. He could take anything and everything in his life but mockery. He remembered what he'd made of the only son his former master before Ja Lai. Upon his death had he fled from the master's wrath. He could had waited to make him an escort to his son, but that'd be unbecoming. He dumped the thought.

     Leering leopard again charged more ferociously at the moment. He ducked it. He was able to avert the reaching claw at that try. He was beginning to understand how leopards charge and in what pattern their instinct was basked. He flung his sword sideways and it had a swig of the left limb of the panther. It groaned and snarled deeply. He could feel its pain. For the first time, he felt humane. His ire was beginning to subside. He was beginning to loan his consciousness to patience. The panther dropped on the earth.


      No sooner it dropped than it rose. Easing his wanky weight on the unstable trio. He turned his back at the leopard. He was not going to eat it. He felt its pain. He could go hungry for few hours more. What's their to life? But as he went, he felt a weight on his back, weight limbs fighting to have a dig in his shoulders. It was the die-hard panther again. Would he then be responsible for its death? He couldn't be sure! She threw it off himself and tossed its head to the air, but the indifferent wind was too mad to second the game. Thus, it dropped on the earth! Willing Earth's smirk broadened.

      He had no idea what instinct had all forest animals going. Almost everyone they see poses a threat to them. They would always feel insecure and sulk under the gaberdine of defence. If he could have his way, he'd found a way to page all the cats in the forests and squeeze sense into their mental horizon as regards friendship. Friendship could be achieved with almost anyone. But how do you convince those who don't even trust their kinsmen. Such as the wild cats!

      He tottered off dragging the carcass of the panther alongside him. Cooking it was then the problem he was faced with. How was he supposed to cook the panther? He had no idea! He was famished. His worms were humming jolting jazz as the quaking legs complemented the steps. Mass of ideas began to wield till his consciousness was snapped at. The rusty rays of the sun puked pangs and his back ached. His feeble robe was already smelling. Though it'd just been a day difference, yet it felt as though he'd be out since forever.

     As he moved farther, he saw some silhouettes yon treading the route he was plying. He thought of hiding in a cave as a pulpy precaution, but his perforated pride wouldn't him. Therefore, he kept moving as the pace between himself and the recently know panthers were hastily truncated - the panthers had ran towards him. They at his sight, he advanced. They moved back! Conspicuously, they were not in awe of him. Which panther would ever be afraid of a man. They'd never been, and wouldn't begin to be at that moment.

     They snarled as a choir does. Some in auto, some bass, some soprona, some maxo, while some tenor. They were eight! He made a circle around him, locking him up in a Calcutta of doom! He should fret! He should pee in his trouser! He should fall on his knee and say his last prayers, but nay! He wasn't! He couldn't fathom why he was stanced. Like a stubborn sequoia. Savoring the shrewd shrills born by the worn wind. Its callous strength seeped in the visage of undauntedness. He dragged his left legs backwards as a Bremen bull does. He was stoic! 

     Dragging his legs, they'd retreated. No sooner they retreated than they charged again. He discovered that he was caught in the claws of skepticism. He needed to do something. He couldn't afford thinking. He was only going to Carpe Diem! His instinct perched on the breadth of his consciousness. His actions had been foiled. He was going to do whatever that seemed best to him. His actions intervened since the brain was a sewn sluggard. He felt his hands dragging the killed panther forward and dangling athwart in the air as he closed. As a complement to the recent surge, he roared, shrieked, screamed, growled. He kept at it, pulling the dusts with his legs. He kept on till he felt he needed to stop. The need was urgent and fresh. He could feel the infant blood dripping on his marred muscles. He began to relent and stopped! He opened his eyes to be betrayed with the thought of whether he was still alive or not. Ah! They were already out of his sight. He didn't know where they'd gone to. He had no idea why they'd. He thought that was an incarceration of him wordly draws. Hell wrong he was! The thought of being killed like the panther he'd waved sent the soles of the other panthers skipping away in awe.

      He couldn't believe what had happened. Probably there was an external force advocating for his course. He had no idea if waving the carcass was actually enough for eight panthers to leave him on a spot. But he was too proud to believe that there was a God somewhere who'd convinced the lanky leopards to retreat. He couldn't have mocked the thoughts. The thoughts were but figments of his imaginations. Imaginations which are the silhouettes of shenanigans to him. He bore his burden again and stubbornly edged towards the same paths the leopards had came from.

     The sassy sun had proclaimed her miseries to the apt azure which wrenched in porous pain under the news. The worn winds conveyed the message to every elements of nature littered across the globe. The motive was supplanted on the earth as shy shrubs sucked the semantic denotations and paged the syllables per awe of the stance. There was more to the flow as time interrupted: sane azure was foiled and became moody. But the stubborn sun retained her stance and callous clouds were smothered into cloned confetti.

      It then occured to him that he was not going to be able to make food of the recently smelling carcass. He then went to a neighboring cave, entered in, and was convinced of being on a safer side before having the carcass dropped on the floor. He then edged out in search of a lighter and some woods. He went further and noticed a hut in the outskirt of the jungle. He had no rethink before stealing his way into one of the rooms. As he entered, he heard a voice that pushed his hankering heart into his mouth:


      He wasn't sure that was him. He had been wise and comported enough to avoid the state of any of the guards in charge of the reserved hut. He remembered. The hut belonged to Ja Lai. He knew what he was getting himself to. He was bent on putting his life on the line. Of what other use it than to kill to survive. If he didn't kill a man to live, as a gladiator, he'd kill a panther to survive the ordeals of hunger. He made up his mind to heed the call and was going to step out when the voice came again:

      "Bring the food here, hey!"

       The fuck was that! It wasn't even him. He thought the voice was meant for him. Hell wrong he was! It was the dell bearing a bowl of wolf soup garnished with some shrubs. He quickly returned to his business and fetched all he thought would be necessary to his survival: a lighter, two light woods for the carcass, some bowls, two extra robes, a sandal, a girdle, and few other items. He had no idea how he'd leave that spot without stirring anyone.

      He peered through the hole in the heart of the room before opening the window. He saw two gaurds with spears poised. They were always in such fashion. That position was owed not to Intruders but to stray hounds and panthers. He'd sometimes ago assumed the same stance when he had two plates of soup instead of one after the grievous battle with a gladiator from Cyprus. Ja Lia had anon at sent him to that spot! Many reasons are knitted at the tail of being sent to that spot: one is to be eaten by a panther or spent out of standing for a very long time. The only shift they had was the two minutes hot soup meal. Hat hell is greater than that.

     He was sure that the heftier of them had moved an inch forward before he leapt and dropped on the chaff. There was no way in the world that that wouldn't had stirred one of the ever vigilant peer. He fought his legs on the earth and trusted his salient soles. What'd you except they were after him with a airy alarm:

     "Hey you! Hey there! Halt! Cut the rope! Intruder alert!"

     A body of pegs locked up to a board came swinging towards his part as he slid under the odd. Like you do in Temple run. That was the effect of the rope being cut by one who was tantamount to the modern day sniper. The cod ducked all the javelins aimed at him and avoided all odds. How wouldn't he? He was keen to the agora. To the hampered hut. He wasn't a stranger to it. How could he not know the nooks and crannies that locked the stead up? He ran as fast as his sole would spare, merging with vying velocity, mocking the rage of the worn wind. 

     The last javelin aimed at him brushed his left ear and plunged into the wooden fence he was going to jump; his last resort. That was a plus to him. He halted at that, enforced all the confetti of strengths in him, removed the javelin and with its aid jumped to the other side of the fence. The remaining fun would be pruned the next day! He was spent. His delight was seeped in how things worked out. What was sport to him was a bile to sundry other people he'd known.

       He edged towards the cave he'd dropped the carcass. He was surprised upon what he saw. Footprints were left on the entrance to the cave. His mouth was already in his mouth. He had no idea what had happened. But the first thing that crossed the path of the thought was "the panther". He quickly ran in, indifferent on whether someone was awaiting to kill him in the cave or not. To his relief, the carcass was there! He was eased. He had no idea how possible it was for him to had escaped with a burden strapped to his bruised back. He couldn't fathom. But wouldn't you do when death knocks at your door? Do you confide in him?

       He eased his thought for his stomach. One should revere the other!







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