Whitefish River guernica

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”Hmm,” the earthstalker grunted as the red girl confirmed his assertion. She was a young thing after all, and perhaps inexperienced in the ways of the world, so it wasn’t surprising. When he was a young cub — it seemed so long ago, now — he, too, was shielded. But now he roamed the earth free and knew much of it.

There was mention made of the tusks and Komodo glanced towards the foretold protrusions. They did indeed look grotesque; perhaps that was what drew the brute towards it — the life of a shaman did not leave much room for fears of strange things. ”They are like us. Boars like to protect what is theirs, but where we have fangs, and cougars have claws, and porcupines have spines…they have tusks.” There was something macabre about the way he spoke of the boar and humanized it as he devoured its corporeal flesh, exalting its evolution as he actively abetted in its own natural selection. Almost as if in response to cognitive dissonance [or was it some type of divine understanding?] he finished with a hearty shrug and ”It is just the way of things,” licking the blood from his lips. 

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