Huntsman and dog
Episode: "Into the Woods" (One Bottle of Booze Is Never Enough)
1
Forty years ago, the forest was still unnamed in Googlemap, only named in the villagers' mouths.
"The forest is broken."
I don't know anyone since someone who used to go in and come back out with the same legs. There aren't many.
That morning, the huntsman with a pale canvas backpack that had been used in the war days with countless canned fish. There was a white bottle hanging against his hips every step of the way like a wild clock. The pungent smell emanated through the breath. It seemed like the huntsman was a little out of the breath. This morning, he didn't stick to the time. Everything was open source, he ate, but he wasn't drunk. Even drunk, he was sleeping with no one. He wasn't busy with anyone for a long time. He was quite a reclusive man. He was not an introvert. He was a normal person. He talked to animals with trees. It didn't argue. He didn't listen. That's what he thinks.
And "dog" is not a normal dog, but a curious black house dog, short name black, because the owner is lazy to think of the name.
Black bastard, lazy dog, it doesn't bark, doesn't howl, likes to lie near the huntsman. Its time is only to eat and sleep. Other things, black bastard doesn't care.
The corridor is an ancient forest way, some distance from the city, difficult to walk, overgrown with large trees, invisible to the sun, only light passing down.
This is not a way that people walk, because there were very few people, but a way that people used to walk.
Old footprints become hard dirt. If it rains, the water will lock up.
The vine is wrapped like a rope tied to the past.
The tree is so tall that the sun has to ask for permission before passing down.
The hunter walked away, complained, pulled a 35-degree bottle of white wine, threw a roasted cashew nut in his mouth.
He bought it from the grandmother next door.
"Old times, black. The forest is real, not now. Go to the cafe before you see the tiger."
Black doesn't answer, but the tail swings like it agrees like a request. But why do mango grains not enter his mouth?
The hunter chuckles like talking to a forest, not a dog.
Not staying. The rain began to spread the first pellets on the leaves...Por...Like someone knocking a coconut shell from the sky without anything to tell.
"Come on again. Cheeky rain," he complained.
The black bastard looked at the sky and shook his head like he knew in advance that it wouldn't be normal rain.
Less than half an hour. The whole forest is like pouring water from a giant jar.
The rain pounded until the world left only two colors. Black and gray.
The corridor is messy like porridge. Forget to turn off the gas.
The first day... the huntsman can still hum.
The second day... began to be quiet.
The third day... even the black bastard doesn't bark.
On the fourth day, some sounds began to insert in the rain.
Not the sound of water, not the sound of wind.
But like the sound of breathing something too big to see.
The servant stopped walking immediately.
"Hear it, black..."
The whole creepy black bastard. The tail that used to swing became as stiff as a dry twig.
And then it showed up.
Long black shadows slither through the grass... slowly
A python as big as a log, a pattern on it like a map of the forest that no one ever came back out of.
It's not slithering away... it's slithering around.
Circle around the servant and the black
"Erm... Do you want to play today?"
The hunter slowly took the knife out of the pod, the sound of friction iron and leather...
But still haven't moved
The ground was shaking.
Cabinet!
Wild water came down from him like a herd of rabid buffalo.
A broken tree is a toothpick.
The python disappeared with the tide like a piece of rope.
"Run black!!" "Any zone, any piece, no zone 2."
Two lives rushing through the rain, stepping on mud, splashing like a curse.
The backwater doesn't stop. It's like it was intentional.
When you get high, the hunter is panting like someone who just borrowed someone else's lungs.
He looked back while sipping a bottle of white wine.
The water still flows... but strange.
It's not clear water.
It's turbid... black... and like something swimming up.
Black bastard roaring low, dog panting, obviously.
The rain hasn't stopped yet.
On the fifth day, it continued to rain, like forgetting to close the water valve.
They found a swarm of blood-red scarabs.
Flying like smoke, but biting like a needle.
The hunter had to cover his face with a damp cloth. The black man jumped into the mud and drowned himself whole.
"This forest is not the same. Black... Woe hardcore."
The sixth day.
No crickets at night. No frogs.
There is only the sound of rain... and the sound of footsteps.
Trample... Trample...
Heavy... slow... and getting closer and closer
The groom didn't get up.
He just clenched the knife until his hands shook.
"Don't turn your back on it..." he muttered.
The seventh day.
The rain stopped.
It stopped like nothing happened.
Quiet until tinnitus
Like the earth has just been washed... but not washed clean
The huntsman set the fire.
The smoke rose slowly, like a hesitation about whether to escape.
He took a fish caught from a puddle last night and skewered it.
Roast until the leather is crispy. The sound is cracking. The fragrance is mixed with the smell of wet soil.
Black bastard can't blink this time. Don't miss the mango anymore.
The hunter tore the fish in half. Throw it.
"Take it... this time, really yours."
The black man immediately snapped like he was afraid of anyone coming to take
The red fire reflects the eyes of the servant.
But in that eye... it's not just exhaustion.
It has questions
Is this forest... still the same forest?
Or is there something... waking up.
And then suddenly
The sound of footsteps last night.
Louder again.
Tread...
But this time... it's behind them.
Close enough to know
It's not an ordinary animal.
End of the episode. Come on. 😂🙏
The sound of footsteps trampling... moving closer to the fire.
The servant and the black bastard do not have to turn, know... the real thing has arrived.
The bushes moved. Sa'a -
The shadows popped up quieter than last night's rain.
Dark skin, red-and-white striped face, bushy little bone head.
In the hand is a dart blowing pipe... the tip of the needle is shiny like life.
"Well... come as a tribe today," the hunter muttered.
Shh!
The darts came without sound.
The huntsman tilted his head to hide in the ear.
The black bastard jumped back. The tail clamped until it almost swallowed in the stomach.
"Run black!!!"
Two lives immediately crept out of the fire.
The floor is still damp. Running like a soap pedal.
Behind the sound, buzz! buzz! Follow next to
The huntsman ran to insert the wood. Dodge the tree like a familiar man.
But the dart is not familiar... it still follows
He jumped over the log, rolled one.
Embroidered darts. Puk! Dirt where his head was half a second ago.
"Poison sure... get a long bed, don't set the alarm clock."
Black bastard running ahead, folded ears, hanging tongue like an overheat engine.
And then suddenly the hunter stopped.
"Fuck... booze!"
35-degree white liquor bottle, left by the fire
Like a close friend who was dumped in the storm
He turned to look at the escape... and looked back.
The brain argued for a moment.
"Black! Loop back!"
The black man makes a face like "Seriously."
But turned around because there was no choice.
The pair went back amid the footsteps that began to disperse the siege.
The darts also burst into rhythm like a small rain.
The huntsman reached the fire, leaving only smoke.
Grab the bottle up like a life grab.
"Got it! Go!!"
This time, no ordinary running.
He pressed the full speed.
Glance of the left wrist
Garmin Forerunner 965's Glow Screen Flashing Figures
Pace 2: xx
"Oh... If you really compete, I got the cup!"
Black bastard doesn't care about cups, only life
Ahead is a big tree. The trunk is as tall as a two-story building.
The servant doesn't think too much.
"Up!"
He jumped on the bark, climbed up like a monkey with a pendant light.
The black guy looked downstairs like he said, "What about me?"
Embroidered darts. Puk! Near its legs.
"Here! Come!!"
The servant stretched out his hand.
Carrying a black bastard like a wriggling sack
Almost dropped two rounds before the big branch was successfully dragged.
Two sat panting on a height that the darts began to reach.
Below, the head hunting tribe circled quietly.
Like knowing that things are upstairs... just waiting for time
"Well, let's sleep in the trees tonight," said the huntsman.
He untied the rope from the backpack, tied the crib to two branches.
Made into an ad hoc cradle
Black bastard climbs to bed. Looks comfortable like a five-star resort.
Both below, people will hang their heads.
The servant is going to follow.
So cute!!
The monkey's voice rang above the head.
Both perk together.
A herd of monkeys filled the treetops.
Staring down with unfriendly eyes
The biggest one shows fangs like saying "This is my house."
"Here... nemesis."
Not yet negotiated
One monkey jumped on
Shh!
The hunter dodged, but the crib swung.
The black bastard barked. Other monkeys started coming in like an army.
"Get down! Better down!!"
He jumped off the tree, both below still having enemies.
The black man followed down without thinking of life.
When your feet reach the ground, you run immediately.
The hunters were a little shocked before blowing darts.
The monkey chased from above.
Turned into a freak parade. The forest almost exploded.
The huntsman ran without turning back.
Another glance at the clock.
Pace is still 2: xx.
"If you survive... I apply for a marathon."
The black guy ran next to him, panting until he seemed to say
"Survive before you think!"
The sound of footsteps, the sound of monkeys, the sound of darts.
Mixed in the same rhythm as the heart
And the whole forest... like watching them run
Like it enjoys this hunting game
A game that still doesn't know who gets the "head" who goes first.
