The season's dust devils, like miniature tornadoes, swirled across the savannah below him, tracking erratically, lifting grass and sticks and rattling the pods on the acacia behind him.
He was alone and here for a special hunt.
Stretched across the lookout rock, he was busy glassing the plain below, tracking a group of heavily tusked warthogs that he hoped would reach the spring by midday. Then a slight movement and he wondered how the lizard had arrived without his spotting it. He’d seen it in the old yellowwood tree from time to time sunning itself on the upper branches of the lightning killed tree.
The youngster and the lizard stared at each other. The boy had arrived first and the lizard, moving into the morning sun, is uncertain about what has changed. First the one blinks, then the other. The monitor stops blinking, and the youngster blinks each eye, carefully and in turn. The monitor raises its head, lifts onto clawed feet, tongue flicking and tasting the air and turns back into his hole. About a foot of tail remains. The youngster grins and the glassing begins again.
Time passed and memories faded, replaced by more urgent matters, until at last it was Grandfather's 80th birthday. Among the presents in a side room, was one that caught every eye, one so beautiful, that when spoken of, voices quieted and in the whisperings the youngster’s name could be heard.
Language
English
Pages
12
Format
Kindle Edition
Publisher
Bruce Parker
Release
September 25, 2014
A warthog hunt in the Waterberg: an African hunting story...for when you can't be there (African Hunting Stories Book 1)
The season's dust devils, like miniature tornadoes, swirled across the savannah below him, tracking erratically, lifting grass and sticks and rattling the pods on the acacia behind him.
He was alone and here for a special hunt.
Stretched across the lookout rock, he was busy glassing the plain below, tracking a group of heavily tusked warthogs that he hoped would reach the spring by midday. Then a slight movement and he wondered how the lizard had arrived without his spotting it. He’d seen it in the old yellowwood tree from time to time sunning itself on the upper branches of the lightning killed tree.
The youngster and the lizard stared at each other. The boy had arrived first and the lizard, moving into the morning sun, is uncertain about what has changed. First the one blinks, then the other. The monitor stops blinking, and the youngster blinks each eye, carefully and in turn. The monitor raises its head, lifts onto clawed feet, tongue flicking and tasting the air and turns back into his hole. About a foot of tail remains. The youngster grins and the glassing begins again.
Time passed and memories faded, replaced by more urgent matters, until at last it was Grandfather's 80th birthday. Among the presents in a side room, was one that caught every eye, one so beautiful, that when spoken of, voices quieted and in the whisperings the youngster’s name could be heard.