Lights sparked in Julian’s eyes. He looked over his shoulder and found a gazelle at the bottom of a stream. It was lapping up water, thirsty from its long walk. Julian took out his camera and adjusted the lenses to 300 mm to take a long shot to capture this innocuous creature’s best angles. He took a few snaps as the gazelle continued to drink. Then there was a sudden gunshot. Julian’s lenses found people aiming at the gazelle but missing it. Poachers? Julian grimaced. The gazelle took off.
The poachers followed it as far as they could go. They slovenly stopped the midway chase and turned back. Julian had the best shots. A drama was unfurling in the East Wick like the unclasped ferns of this wilderness underway to a new beginning. Julian’s powerful lenses followed the poachers all the way to their den—another animal kingdom, unique like every other species of this rainforest. Only, more brutal who hounded after the blood of their own. More profound hearts could be found in the heart of the forest where the elephants, the giraffes could not bear to kill their own; no one claimed that the forest was easy to negotiate.
A lot happened here. Carcasses lay bare for others to feed. A full-on hunger war, bloody face-to-face battles. But the young poachers now reckoned with their fates. The greedy bosses would not let them be. For the gazelle had fled, hence, no musk, no skin, or no antlers to trade. The poachers were lined up, one next to the other. Tears and sweats of fear ran down their veins and their bare bodies, chests. Powerful men could stir up muck and dust to any level if their hunger was not met, young poachers took the blame, the bane of their lives.
The boys had no escape. They stood like petrified rabbits before these powerful men, backed by many other powerful men of all sizes and colour. Unless something spectacular happened here today, there was no escape. Heavens had to fall over, tsunamis had to rise, the rainforest had to awaken, the trees had to walk, and animals had to talk as an opening gambit. The boys stood like petrified rabbits before these powerful men. Something, anything mythical, extraordinary had to happen to stop this scourge.
Bosses had zero tolerance for people without prowess. As if the forest heard the boys’ cries. A breathing entity, the forest was silent but fiery as it carried out its favourite gambit that the best form of defense was to attack. Win this war at any cost. The cheetahs, the lions, and the jaguars woke up with a hungry roar. They were out to poach for food, too. A human smell was coming from a nearby den. Their eyes lit up. The bloodhounds waited for the right moment to pounce. They pounced on whoever was closest to their claws. The poacher boys were in the crosshairs, but no one had the gunmen’s back in the forefront of the snare.
