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The Story of A Boar

posted Feb 25, 2016, 4:30 AM by Noa Shmueli

The sun rises, orange and yellow, illuminating the endless mountains that stretch out further than the horizon. The forest wakes, along with the sun, birds singing as the sun rays make the green of the trees greener than ever. All along the mountains, creatures of the forest rise from their sleeping places and announce the coming of the day. The sun alights on a purple blotched caterpillar, climbing into the wrinkled veins of the wild leaves that populate the forest. Its legs skitter around as it slides along the leaf on a drop of morning dew. Its movements suddenly halt - freeze - and in a blink of the eye, it is gurgling down a boar’s throat.


The boar snuffles contentedly as it swallows the rest of the leaf. Its belly is just a little swollen and three miniature versions of it are playing follow-the-leader, bumping into their mother’s legs as the explore the world that is new to them. The she-boar nudges them and realizes she must scavenge further; neither her, nor her young ones have had enough to eat. She snuffles up another leaf, and lays yet another in front of her piglets. Ahead of her lies a treasure - a wild yam. The boar harrumphs and charges at it, not believing her luck. Her leg catches suddenly on a well-placed stick of bamboo, and a hook spins in from nowhere, buries itself deep into her fleshy foot. It takes her just a moment to realize she is doomed. Her three babies circle around her as she bellows in surprise and pain, and collapses to the ground.


A minute’s walk from there, at the base of the mountain, the old hunter walks. His veined hand trembles a bit and his feet scuffle against the parched ground. His eyes widen as he hears the she-boar’s desperate cry, and he quickens his pace.


With every kick, every struggle, the already unbearable pain intensifies and at last the boar is reduced to a quivering mass of fur and flesh and blood.


The old man’s pace breaks into a run.


The boar sees a figure advancing towards her. An enemy? Or a savior? She squeals at her young ones to scatter, a fretful mother till the end.


The man’s eyes alight upon the boar.


Their eyes make contact and the man slips out a blade, a small dagger. The boar is confused. A sharp thing - to kill her, or to free her bonds? As the man draws closer, she looks into his charcoal eyes. It looks… it looks as though a glint of pity is there, sympathy. Yes - she knows now that his man would never kill h--


The dagger does not miss its target.
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