By the first light of the day hours, Shaun was already outside, his breath steaming in the cool morning air. But there, waiting for him, was Panda. The rabbit had never been an early riser, and Shaun couldn't help but wonder if it had sensed his restlessness during the night, somehow knowing that today was different.
Shaun hesitated, unsure of what to do. He'd never truly considered Panda as his own, always seeing the rabbit as its own being—an individual with its own life and will. Yet, there was a part of him that felt comforted by its presence, especially knowing how much weaker he still was in comparison to the creatures lurking in the forest.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Panda hopped over to Shaun's bag, burrowing itself inside with just its head and horn poking out from the opening. Shaun felt a flicker of warmth at the gesture, but he didn't dwell on it. He simply slung the bag over his shoulder and began his journey.
He approached the descent spot where the rope hung, now a yellowish-brown color from dried blood. The sight alone made his palms itch with remembered pain. He grabbed the end of the rope and added a few more meters to it, ensuring that it would reach just above the forest floor. Satisfied, he tied a heavy rock to the end and tossed it over the edge to stabilize his climb down.
This time, the descent felt slightly easier. His hands still lost a little skin, but at least they weren't raw to the bone. He managed to grip the cliffside with his toes, which gave him a bit more control as he lowered himself down. Yet, the memory of his last grueling descent haunted him, urging caution with every movement.
The moment his feet touched the forest floor, Shaun untied one of the short spears from his pack. He held it close to the point, like a stiletto knife rather than a spear. In his spars with Panda, he'd found that this grip gave him better reaction time to sudden attacks, almost as if the spear was an extension of his arm. The rest of the shaft acted as a shield for his forearm, whereas using the full length felt like trying to maneuver an extra limb.
Panda, now free of the bag, started darting across the forest floor, its movements a blur as it scouted the area. Shaun watched the rabbit, trusting its instincts to guide them. But within minutes, he regretted this decision. Panda's ridiculous speed and familiarity with the forest quickly left him in the dust. He tried to keep up, zigzagging through the dense foliage, but after about a kilometer, he found himself completely lost. Looking around, the trees all looked the same—tall, imposing, and indifferent to his plight.
"Damn rabbit! This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" Shaun muttered in frustration. He wasn't ready to admit that he was truly lost, though. Like many men before him, his pride wouldn't allow it. He told himself that he recognized certain landmarks—an oddly twisted tree here, a low-hanging branch there. But the truth was, he was going in circles.
After two hours of fruitless running, Shaun finally relented. "Haaa, I knew I should have turned left at that tree instead of right," he grumbled to himself, glancing around at a forest full of identical trees.
Meanwhile, back where Shaun had strayed from the path, Panda was sniffing around, bemused by the human's apparent inability to follow a simple trail. The rabbit shook its head, its little brain unable to comprehend how someone could get lost so easily.
Shaun took a break to catch his breath and drink some water. As he raised the flask to his lips, a rustling sound came from the south. He froze, his senses immediately sharpening. Complacency had dulled his instincts while he was running around aimlessly, but now the reality of his situation hit him like a cold wave. This was the jungle—a place where even the smallest creatures could kill him ten times over.
Crouching low, Shaun began to move toward the sound, his body tense and ready. He kept his profile low, using the overgrown roots of the trees as cover. Every few steps, he paused to survey his surroundings, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement.
Finally, about 30 meters ahead, he spotted it. A massive body lay heaving beside some thick undergrowth. It was a wild boar—or at least, that's what it looked like. Only this boar was the size of a small truck, its dark brown fur rippling with every labored breath. Black stripes marked its back, and its tusks were so long they could have skewered a dozen men with ease. The sight was so astounding that Shaun momentarily forgot to breathe.
But as he inched closer, the sharp stench of blood reached his nostrils—blood that wasn't his. The boar's sides were marred with fresh wounds, deep gashes still oozing thick, dark blood that clung to its matted fur. Patches of wet, sticky blood glistened in the faint light, a stark contrast against the beast's coarse, mud-caked hide. Its breath came in ragged gasps, each exhalation rattling through its massive chest as it struggled to draw in air. But even in its weakened state, the sheer size and power of the creature radiated danger, a reminder that even a wounded beast could be deadly.
His heart pounded in his chest as he crept closer, his grip on the spear tightening. He had to get in close—close enough to ensure a clean hit. The boar's hide looked thick, and Shaun wasn't sure his spear could pierce it from a distance.
But just as he reached the three-meter mark, the boar's eyes snapped open, locking onto Shaun with a glare that sent a jolt of fear through him. He hadn't even realized he'd crossed into the creature's range. If it decided to swing those tusks now, Shaun knew he wouldn't stand a chance.
The boar's muscles tensed, its massive body preparing to surge forward despite its injuries. Shaun's earlier confidence crumbled as the reality of his situation settled in—he was way out of his depth. He had learned the hard way that the jungle didn't care about mistakes. It demanded a steep price for every error, and Shaun was about to pay dearly.