The boar stood and smelled the air. He shook himself free of the dust and straw that he was lying in and trotted down the moss-matted forest path - ears alert and snout in the air. He was well-fed and heavy for a spring-born. The winter had been easy and food had been plentiful. His tusks were growing longer and more menacing with each passing day and mating season would start soon.

A crack in the distance to the north made him stop. He made a mewing grunt and scurried off the path into the underbrush. Smelling the wind from the south, he could detect nothing. Whiskers and quills alert, he trotted back out onto the path where he was lanced through the shoulder blades by a six foot spear that arrived with such force that it snapped the boar's back and pinned him to ground. There he lay, twitching and glaze-eyed as his life flickered out.