The Leopard
Sam Oestergaard - Year 9
As the leopard wandered across the desolate ocean of arid grasslands , only one desire drove his swaying gait : nourishment . Not for his soul - the savannah has no care for souls - but his body . For three days straight all she had gifted him was the taste of dry red dust . Her cracked earth shattered under his paws , and now and again , her thorns would prick his leathery pads , or tear at his fine coat . The sun pounded down and lethargy hung from every strand of fur . As he waded on , she continued to greet him with only her fine red dust .
In truth , there were other delights : the tsetse flies that pounded at his now ragged fur like a host of miners hammering the earth for red gold . The boreholes they left in their wake oozed , and her ubiquitous red dust worked its way in . As his knotted stomach twisted into a Gordian tangle he spotted a thin whisper of smoke on the horizon emanating from a lone baobab tree . The wind changed direction and the air carried a distinctive smell - man , a worthy adversary .
Tall sand-coloured grasslands stood between him and his prey ; their hue perfectly matched his markings . He moved through the grass with the swaying motion of the air towards the camp ’ s perimeter . Ghosting behind a large boulder , he surveyed the scene . A line of flint-tipped spears caught his eye ; they were placed against the huts - more than an arm ' s length from the strongest of the pack . The thought of having to face a defensive line of them made him feel nauseous , but their backs were turned in preoccupation with the evening feast .