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The Pig |
| Written by Conor Dowling | |
| Wednesday, 27 February 2008 | |
The forest itself was dead quiet but the sound of men’s boots clanging against the soft, wet soil could be heard, echoing through the trees. The mixture of warm and wet in the summer months created an omnipresent fog that refused to subside. The sun beat down violently on the earth, its heat unparalleled. As the men reached the edge of the forest, they slowed down, causing a chilling silence within the good. Cautious of the dangers that may be lurking behind the thick fog, the hunting party proceed, step by step, into the heart of the forest. This was the first hunting party Matthew had ever taken part in, and he was petrified. He had heard tales of boys who lost limbs and sometimes their lives hunting pig and boar, boys with much more hunting experience then him. As heir to the thrown, Matthew needed to learn the art of pig hunting. The eerie silence was broken, to the surprise of Matthew, when a loud, clear voice ahead of them called out, “Tracks!” The party changed direction, towards the voice. Butterflies raced through Matthew’s stomach, as the party began to pick up speed, the calming silence of the forest was a thing of the past. “Tracks!” the voice called out again, as if to ensure the party was heading in the right direction. Matthew’s father, the king, swung his arm over his son’s shoulder, half reassuringly, half trying to speed his son up. The pungent smell of decaying flesh washed over the group, causing a momentary light-headedness within the part. The more experienced hunters, including the king, quickly became accustom to the smell, and ignored it like a small nuisance. The newer men of the group took long to cope with the overpowering smell, one boy even fainted-! The group came upon a clearing within the woods, and there sat the scout. Beside him, a large deer, or the remains of a deer, rested. Indents in the soft earth surrounded the carcass of the dead creature, clearly hoof-prints left by the predator, a boar. The group fell quiet as everyone examined the large hoof-prints. Some were filled with excitement at the prospect of killing the boar, while others seemed nervous, shifting their weight, anxiously. The excursion totaled eleven, minus the boy who had fallen ill to the smell of death. The ten remaining men turned toward the king, as if expecting a command. The silence was broken as a sharp yell of pain could be heard. Matthew turned towards the yelp of agony to see the scout being driven back by a large beast. This was the first time Matthew had seen a live boar, and was surprised by the size of the massive creature. The boar’s tusks had cleanly pierced the scout’s leg; blood could be seen running down his thigh. The boar drove the scout into the nearest tree, hard, then ripped its head away. At the base of the tree lay the scout, unconscious or dead. The creature reared around, preparing to strike again when another boar came into sight. Matthew fumbled for his bow before he shot an arrow at the second, smaller boar, but missed by an embarrassing distance. He looked at the creature in dismay as three arrows drove into the animal’s side. The beast began to charge at Matthew. Everything slowed down as the boar began its relentless charge on the prince. Another man had been injured by the first boar, and the entire party had turned their attention to the larger prize. Matthew turned back towards the smaller boar, to see it had gained momentum, despite its injury, and was only fifty yards from him. Matthew reached into his quiver and pulled out another arrow. This was his last chance to hit the beast before it was upon him. He cocked the wood bolt into the thatch and took a deep long breath. The boar was much closer now, thirty yards, twenty maybe, when Matthew let loose another arrow. The arrow hit home as Matthew heard a squeal of pain come from the beast. The large pig faltered for a moment, but quickly re-gathered itself and continued its savage attack. The arrow, sticking out of the boar’s neck, seemed a minor inconvenience as the animal got closer and closer. The young prince tried to release his sword from its scabbard, but it refused to relinquish the weapon. The boar was upon Matthew, and threw him up, into the air. Matthew came down on his back, knocking the wind out of himself. Matthew stood up; trying to redraw his sword, but the boar had circled around for a second pass. As the vicious creature drove its massive tusks towards the prince, he dove over the beast, avoiding a crippling blow. As he did so, his scabbard released the sword, and the prince held his magnificently crafted weapon. The boar had tired from its injuries and previous attacks, but refused to run from the prince. It circled again, ready to deliver the killing blow. As the boar ran towards the prince, Matthew stepped right of the creature, and drove his sword into the beasts neck. A final squeal of defeat echoed through the forest, as the beast lay before Matthew lifeless. Matthew turned to see the rest of the hunt, to realize the first boar was long dead. The standing party members were instead, curiously watching Matthew’s plight against his foe. The men erupted in cheers at Matthew’s first kill, while his father smiled proudly at his son. Copyright 2008 Conor Dowling |
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