| The
Wrath Of Mount Tabaga Abid Imane © Copyright 2026 by Abid Imane |
![]() Image by Michal Renčo from Pixabay |
In
an instant, the thicket
exploded. The mother sow charged from the shadows, a massive mountain
of dark, bristling fur and pure, unadulterated fury. She was a
terrifying sight: her small, bloodshot eyes burned with a primal
rage, and her snout was wrinkled in a permanent, menacing snarl. Her
tusks gleamed like dull ivory, ready to rend and tear. She didn't
just run; she lunged with a terrifying speed that belied her muscular
frame, the earth trembling under her frantic hooves.
She was inches from ending
my life when my trained dogs threw themselves into the fray. Their
fierce barking and brave intervention gave me the split second I
needed. I turned and bolted, running until the world became a blur of
trees and frost, gasping for air that felt like needles in my lungs.
When I finally reached a
safe distance, I stopped, my breath ragged. Suddenly, a cold
realization struck me: "My sheep! I left them behind. Should I
go back? If I return now, she will surely kill me." I stood
there, torn between the instinct to survive and the duty to my flock.
I whispered to myself, trying to calm my racing heart: "Wait a
little longer... let the storm pass. I will return soon; the dogs
must have driven her away by now." I waited, my heart hammering
against my ribs, watching for the moment Mount Tabaga would grant me
safe passage back to my livelihood.