The blinding darkness of the jungle was only being complimented by the utter blackness offered by the pitch-dark night. The inhabitant flora and fauna of the jungle were sound asleep and were not producing a decibel of sound. The only thing that gave away that this scene was reality and not a gloomy painting was the faithful harmonic chirps of the bugs that were, for some reason, restless to announce themselves. The inhabitants of the jungle were impatiently waiting for the next few hours of the lightless and soundless night to pass, but that silence was suddenly broken by a distant thumping of footsteps of a lone runner. Panting and wheezing, trying to utilize every speck of oxygen to aid his breath and every millisecond of time to plan his next move, he wearily and fearfully jumped into the nearest tall vegetation he could find. He was a bit relieved because of the realization that his adversaries were far behind him but that would not be the case for long, because he knew that he was merely a visitor to this land but the foes chasing him were native to this region and knew this place like the back of their hands. Waiting too long in the enemy's home ground would only make him a fish in the barrel and he was fully aware of that. As he regained his breath, he could hear the howling of several wolves. This was not good news. Not only he was to evade these savages but the beasts also posed a genuine threat as he was in their natural habitat. Soon all his thoughts evaporated when he heard the faded unfriendly chants of the angry mob that chased him out of the village. The preacher felt a crippling shiver in his spine when he realized that the inauspicious stampede was closing in on him. He had evaded them for at least half a mile and had placed decoy clues wherever he could but the fact that his chasers were on the pin point accurate course to catch on to him, made him feel that he was not wrong about their mastery of the forest.
Preacher Soleiman was calm for a bit but panic ensued as soon as he heard the frantic growling and barking of the hunting dogs. If faced by a choice whether a person would prefer to be caught by the angry mob of savages or to be sniffed out by their hunting dogs, one would gladly choose the mob. The angry mob will beat him, insult him, shame him in front of the village about which he does not give a damn, condemn him and hang, kill, crucify or stone him. But if he manages to get sniffed out by the dogs, he will be eaten whole but will be kept just alive to suffer the other formalities. The dogs were deliberately kept on a starving diet to turn them into raging ravagers when they were set loose on something or someone. The dogs were trained in such a way that their minimal diet didn't affect their strength. The hunting dogs were originally trained to fight alongside in tribal wars. Hence, they were originally named War Dogs. The fact that the dogs sounded at least a hundred feet ahead of the angry mob was not very encouraging for the survivor because that would give the dogs a bit more time to feast on his body. He had to think fast and the inclusion of the dogs in his list of foes tonight somehow limited his options even further.
Soleiman could not think of any better option than to run, after all it had singlehandedly kept him alive that night. He looked around and saw a hint of light in the distance opposite to the direction of his enemies, he had nothing to lose so he bet everything on it. He emerged from the vegetation and leapt towards that source of light. After a long and tiresome sprint, he reached the lone source of light. There was a river in front of him and the light he saw was light of the full moon reflecting on it. It took a while for his eyes to settle and present a comprehendible picture. As his vision cleared, he realized that he stood at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he would have plummeted into the river. Although seemingly silent, the river raged mercilessly across the moonlight. He decided to run sideways in the direction of the river hoping to buy some time.
He soon understood that his luck was quickly running out. No diversion seemed to be effective on the assailants for long. The growls grew louder and louder and he could see the torches of the mob behind him as he stood at a dead end weighing his options. He lost every ounce of optimism that he had and came to understand that his only way out, if there was any left, was the river. He fastened the belt of his satchel. He closed his eyes and salvaged the last few seconds that he had to spare, praying to God. The survivor cupped his hands together for prayer, looked into the sky, and whispered,
"In the name of God, the most beneficent, the most merciful", and surrendered his body into the hands of the river.