A leopard was close, it had to be.
The message had come from somewhere in the dark, but had now gone. He stopped, almost level with the second tent and stood quite still, listening and trying to think.
Another message. A prickle of cold ran down the small of his back and his mind seemed to thicken and slow as he fought the panic that brought with it narrowing vision and a clumsy stiffness.
Fighting fear's spread he turned away, knowing it was crazy and walked quickly past the long lines of salted buffalo meat, his body tensed against the impact of the leopard's attack, its weight steadied by claws gripping the backs of his legs, front legs well hooked into his shoulders while the long, dirty canines ground at his neck bones.
He was in Africa on a leopard hunt. At least that was the plan.
The leopard moved on with its stolen meat, probably not even noticing him, certainly not expecting another meeting or was he wrong about that too?
He still felt the fear that had shredded his confidence with a challenge so uniquely African. But now, looking down at the moving shadows of men and listening to their soft voices and seeing the bright dust particles that still drifted like tiny insects in the torch light, he knew he would remember this moment, this place and his short walk into Africa.
Language
English
Pages
21
Format
Kindle Edition
Publisher
Bruce Parker
Release
September 26, 2014
A leopard hunt and a Musasa tree: an African hunting story...for when you can't be there (African Hunting Stories Book 12)
A leopard was close, it had to be.
The message had come from somewhere in the dark, but had now gone. He stopped, almost level with the second tent and stood quite still, listening and trying to think.
Another message. A prickle of cold ran down the small of his back and his mind seemed to thicken and slow as he fought the panic that brought with it narrowing vision and a clumsy stiffness.
Fighting fear's spread he turned away, knowing it was crazy and walked quickly past the long lines of salted buffalo meat, his body tensed against the impact of the leopard's attack, its weight steadied by claws gripping the backs of his legs, front legs well hooked into his shoulders while the long, dirty canines ground at his neck bones.
He was in Africa on a leopard hunt. At least that was the plan.
The leopard moved on with its stolen meat, probably not even noticing him, certainly not expecting another meeting or was he wrong about that too?
He still felt the fear that had shredded his confidence with a challenge so uniquely African. But now, looking down at the moving shadows of men and listening to their soft voices and seeing the bright dust particles that still drifted like tiny insects in the torch light, he knew he would remember this moment, this place and his short walk into Africa.