The hunter becomes the hunted.

Last year my very dear friend Chief Dumbalazi, head man of the Zwingolo tribe in Swaziland invited me to attend the circumcision ceremony of his youngest son. After enduring this tedious and blood churning event I intended to head out into the country to do a spot of impala shooting. Before I left I was begged by dear old Chief Dumbalazi to do him and his people a great favour, kill a man eating Leopard that had been carrying away and devouring a good many of his citizens. I readily agreed !
Once in the bush I soon came upon the fresh spoor of this man eating beast. It led to tree with a freshly killed and partly eaten tribesman hanging from a branch. I climbed the tree to ensure the man was indeed dead and He of course was. As I climbed down I accidently dropped my rifle, it fell to the floor and the barrel snapped off.
What a fool hardy error to make. I was now unarmed and miles from safety, at the mercy of a murderous feline killing machine.
As night fell I could hear the growls of blood lust all around me. I was now being stalked by my prey !
I carried on walking, my foot steps getting faster and faster, fearful of being attacked at any moment. Suddenly I noticed far off a tiny light. I started to run blindly towards it, not knowing how far away it was. It was my only hope of survival.
I could hear the panting of the Leopard behind me, getting closer and closer. I could feel his breath on the back of my perspiring neck.
Suddenly I could feel myself falling and I hit water. I sank beneath the water before emerging gasping for air. I had fallen down a steep cliff into a river. The current carried me away to safety. The vicious Leopard snarled in the darkness with displeasure.

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One nil to Lord Dimblem !