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The Hunted Hound
By Roob
A small, disorganized, cluster of log cabins stood in an opening in the woods. Winter had
come, and with it, it had brought a bitter hopelessness that had spread among the
townspeople. The landscape was glittering white and despite the cold, the trees of the
forest had resiliently held their leaves. The summer had gone and with it most of the prey
that used to inhabit the woods. This had caused the predators of the forest to move
towards the town.
The people were scared. And tales of a giant wolf roaming around at night had spread
through the town like a wildfire. The rumours had become so ostensible that the
townspeople had gathered three inexperienced hunters, who were chosen not because of
their skills but because they were the only ones foolish enough to go wandering through the
forest, to go find and kill the infamous wolf
They stood at its edge, it wasn’t just a normal forest, it was a near impenetrable fortress of
trees and other flora. Bloodthirsty, a malicious grin spread across the hunters faces, they
were ready. Or at least they thought they were. The vast, swarming undergrowth made
traversing the forest almost impossible so the hunters were forced to inelegantly trot
through the woodland.
The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, this made the hunters (refusing to return
empty handed) decide to split up in the hopes of finding the wolf before nightfall.
A few hours had passed which meant that the forest had been plunged into darkness. The
eldest of the hunters trudged alone through the shadowy night when he heard a snap echo
through the forest. Panic filled him as he without thought or hesitation shot his rifle towards
the origin of the sound. His shot was met with the squeal of a creature in agony. He swiftly
scampered through the forest to see what he had hit.
The second hunter lay on the ground half hidden by the copious vegetation. Crimson
billowed profusely down his arm. The oldest hunter clutched onto his forearm and lifted him
up. He told him to return to the village. Without a second thought the wounded hunter
began his journey back towards the town. The oldest hunter was alone again.
A chorus of blood-curdling howls flooded through the forest. The colour drained from the
hunter’s face. Growls crept towards him. He tried to run, but his legs didn’t seem to move.
His body turned to stone. Emerging from the night. Muzzle drenched with fresh blood.
Bloodshot eyes filled with relentless hunger and unbridled rage. Its ragged, tangled fur
seemed to glisten in the moonlight.
Eyes fixed on the dreaded creature that towered over him. His throat closed, his heart
pounded in his ears, every part of him was willing to run but his body just didn’t seem to
move. The beast bared its pointed yellow teeth dripping with gore. The hunter new his fate
and before his last breath was fully drawn
The creature pounced.
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i LOVED the part about the uganda slave trade in 1856!!!!1!