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I dreamed I was a man - a man with a mission. Turned up on the jungle island in a Dhow. Took me and my guns and crates of ammunition on land. There was a temple by the beach. Hot, flat rocks. The insects were beggining to bite already. You couldn't see more than five paces on either side, the jungle was so thick. When I set the equipment down the priest came out and put the fat of a jaguar on my forehead and the fangs of a jaguar on a necklace round my neck.
"Are you ready," he said, "For the finest game?"
"I'm ready," I replied.
He clapped me on the shoulder. I watched them leave - leave the island, not to return for a month. For a moment I considered what a lesser man might feel - fear, probably, weakness. And then I was off - into the interior.
I walked for days. No sign. Then - up there on a crag - a flash. Then gone. Like a mote of dust - a man without my training most likely wouldn't have seen it, wouldn't have known if he had - but I knew.
When I got to the river I had to crawl below a fallen trunk. Just as I ducked, I heard it - a whisper - a man without my training wouldn't have known it, but I knew.
I knew. |
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