The Spoils of the Thick Jungle

You whisper of savage battles over slaughtered prey in deep jungles, and my blood boils for carnage. Under the cover of night, I stalked into the tangled thicket of the large potted ferns at the balcony edge. There, half-buried beneath dry leaves and loose black soil, lay a prize worthy of war: a jagged, sun-bleached branch resembling the ribbed carcass of a fallen horned beast. A horned shadow from a nearby garden hook dared loom over my prize. Baring my fangs with a guttural roar, I charged, stomping through the foliage and snapping my jaws around the wooden spine. I dragged the splintered trophy out onto the open stone, claiming the kill as solely mine.

1 Nauk