Hello folks, old Solace here stuck in a tree. I don’t like heights, but I like getting trampled by packs of pachyderm while they steadily stampede around me even less. They are gorgeous animals but I’ve been here for two days now. I was lucky to find a vulture who agreed to take this letter back to Jacob as long as he could have first take at my remains if the unthinkable happened. Good deal I suppose, he is very patient while I write this.
I feel I should explain how I have come to be stuck in this tree, I climbed and can’t get down would be the short answer. The longer and more fulfilling I suppose would be that I found the Bastard who stole my journals hiding in the midst of another tribe, the warring tribe to the one I was taken in by. I would have never known this if there wasn’t a dispute on whose territory the wild boar was grazing in. When I ran onto the field in full war paint, I saw it. Like a shadow looking over a dehydrating calf in the mid-day sun, it mocked me. The moment it felt my presence it ran from me, I took chase as the two tribes beat their war drums and rang their battle cries.
I dodged spears and rocks as they rained down from the cloudless sky. He easily walked through the wall of southern tribesmen; I was left in no man’s land to fend for myself. I tried to run back into my tribe, but they turned on me the moment I didn’t attack their enemies. I had nowhere to go, no one to help me, no safety, no sight of the thing that took my journals. To make matters worse, both sides descried to use their ancient magic and bring upon the wrath of the animal kingdom. All around me the tribesmen transformed into the beasts of the Sahara, they changed their physical form but kept the hatred of man. They rampaged, ripped, and roared. I scurried up the nearest tree and watched the blood spill.
Here I am, two days later with a vulture at my back while writing to you all, as the damn shadow thief gets away. The good news is I happened upon a ragged sheet of paper in a knot hole, a small little entry of a young person. The things one finds up a tree. Well till next time (insert sign off here).
P.S I wonder if this is how David Attenborough felt.
Thought of a Thinker 