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Wild

touching a stem, it flew swiftly and met with the antelope–piercing right through its heart and
pinning its entire body against a tree.
In amazement, he lowered his bow and arrow while looking to his right, from where his
calm father, carrying his bow, came walking fast through the few bushes and trees.
“You make the animal run into your arrow!” he reminded the boy as he walked towards the
kill.
“I was going to kill it!” the boy defended himself while still amazed, walking to meet up
with him at the dead antelope.
“It was going to get away, if it went through those bushes, it would have made the task twice
as hard,” his father continued to explain, as he got closer.
“Wow!” the boy remarked as he got to the kill his father was now staring at–the arrow
„pinning‟ it‟s upper body against the tree, perfectly through its heart.
“How do you do that?” he asked as he wondered in admiration.
“Just as I have told you, you take position,”
“I did?”
“You shoot the arrow so that your target runs into it?”
“But I–”
“Shot after the animal,” he informed the boy while looking into his eyes, “I saw it,” he
added, “your arrow strikes behind your target.”
The boy remained silent. Seeing this, he placed his left hand on his shoulder, making him feel
okay before turning back to the antelope.
“Let us get it off the tree, I will tell you more on the way home,” he said as he stood up and
moved to pull out the arrow.
***
On his back, the boy carried the basket- full of the groceries they had gathered earlier that
morning, following his father who carried the kill on his back by holding its front legs over his
shoulders. Up ahead, on a very small hill covered entirely with short, light green grass, was their
home: a well-built mud house at the crest of the hill. The house had four walls, which leaned
outwards as they moved upwards, intersecting with the thick layer of damp grass and reeds that
thatched the pointed roof on both sides.
Just next to the house, was a soft-wood rack on which a piece of white, furry hide was
drying; close to which was another rack, on which pots, calabashes, cooking sticks, and other
utensils were also drying.
“Are you going fishing tomorrow?” the boy asked as he kept up his pace.
“Yes? Why do you ask?” His father questioned.
“I want to come with you?”
“Son, I have told you before? It is not a journey for children?”
“But I am big now? Do you not see? I can run?”
“It is too dangerous,”
“And I am strong father, I can fight,”
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