The Nature of the Beast

Amid the Moon-washed valley of the Himalayas, something incredible was about to happen.

Two seasoned hunters were about to stumble upon a discovery that had, for many centuries, remained only a myth. The fact that they would make the discovery purely by accident and circumstances - bore no relevance to the fame and esteem that would be bestowed upon them by their community. Their story would be told for generations to come: from father to son. Their names would be remembered throughout history for being the first to retrieve a living specimen of the creature - that until now - had lived only in a fable and in the minds of the believers. Those sceptics that had dismissed and mocked the countless footprints in the snow, or the reported cries of the beast, would soon be silenced by indisputable proof that the legend was true. The legend of a savage creature that roams the Himalayas stalking and destroying anything that crosses its path. A primitive beast, without soul or remorse and with no pity for its prey.

It was as the hunters sat close to the campfire, that they heard the cries of the beast. Dreadful, empty cries that pierced the cold night air: sending shivers through their bodies.

At first, they looked at each other silently, almost paralysed by the moment. If it was the beast, they were doomed. Their hunting equipment had been carelessly lost at the bottom of a glacier: high in the snow packed mountains. They had nothing with which to defend themselves, and should the legend be true, they would certainly need to defend themselves. For this was a beast with little or no moral feeling for life, powerful and cunning.

The tales that they had been told as children, of the creature that would devour them, if they wondered into the mountains, came flooding back. Even tales that had not been told were soon invented by their terrified imaginations.

As the crying and moaning grew frighteningly close, their fear was heightened. Now they could smell it. A repulsive, pungent smell of archaic savagery that filled the air, overwhelming and suffocating the sweet smell of burning pine from the campfire - and then it came.

Its grotesque body fell through the thick trees of the forest that had given them shelter from the savage winds. It lay face down, blood flowing from a recent wound on its leg: spreading and polluting the pure white that surrounded it.

Never before had they seen such an abomination of nature, the likes of which, no story or description could accurately account.

Although the creature appeared to have been injured, the hunters took no chances and approached it cautiously - each one selecting a large stone from around the fire: yet both prayed that they would not have to use them.

Slowly, quietly, they tiptoed their way towards the injured beast, trying not to crunch the virgin snow beneath their feet.

It lay silent and deadly still as they stood above, watching and pondering the question of what they should do with it.

Eventually, they each took one of the creature's arms and dragged it, effortlessly, through the snow to the fire: leaving a trail of deep crimson as they went. It wasn't heavy, not nearly as heavy as they'd thought; In fact it was quite light. But neither of them had any doubt that it was extremely dangerous, and that it would kill and then eat them if they gave it even half a chance.