As any animal that has had a close encounter with an anaconda will attest, there really is no place to run.
In the face of insurmountable odds, the only rational thing to do is to close your eyes and keep running.
So, when I saw the mountains on the other side of the valley, rising up like broken bones on both sides of the river, I closed my eyes and picked up my pace.
My friend Alistair continued running.
He reached the rugged river bank where I was, and moments later he was gone. I heard the rope screaming as he fell. I heard trees cracking as he hit them on his way down, and the occasional cry escaping his lips as he dropped further down. When I reached him some time later, and took off his climbing shoes, all I found was a shred of rope and a set of broken bones.
And that was the first lesson I learned on my way home from a hunt.
I learned this lesson again only two days later. Speeding down a steep slope, keeping my eyes locked on my prey - an eastern mole - I lost my footing and slipped down the side of the mountain.
I was slipping down, when I realized that I had left all of my tools behind in my haste to get after the mole. I panicked, stopping and grabbing some spruces branches to stop myself from sliding all the way down. I tried to pull myself up, moving a hand and then another one, while telling myself that it would be too late to go back.
My pack was getting heavier, with every new meter I ascended. My arms were pumping with the effort of pulling myself up, and my legs had stopped feeling like they were even part of my body.
I never reached my quarry. Moments later, I found myself tucked under a pile of earth, and many hours later, I found myself sliding down, reaching the bottom only to see that the earth opened up like a mouth and swallowed me whole, taking me underneath and leaving my sword in plain view.
The sword cost me a lot of money when I bought it. It was long, beautifully polished, and for a long time, I had been proud to own it. But as I saw it, hanging on a tree, with its blade deep red from blood, I realized how misplaced my pride had been.
Many days later, I found myself on a riverbank, tired, hungry and broken. I followed the river until it brought me home.
I found my home, a dilapidated house, with a few animals living in the attic. The straw on the floor had rotted through and the walls were covered in droppings.
The kitchen was empty, no food inside and the cupboards, which had held the food, were broken and pushed off the kitchen table. The cupboard, I guessed, had come off the table because that morning, the table had been clean. The table, along with everything else in the kitchen, had been pushed on the floor.
I remade the table and I sat on it. I felt old, exhausted, lonely and half dead. From the windows, I could see Hector, the large Egyptian nightjar, who had stationed himself on a branch of the beech tree on the other side of the river. Hector was a bold and idiot bird, who had been jumping from one tree to the other, always returning and mocking me.
I was looking at him, when I realized that I did not have my tools with me. I did not have my sword, my grappling ropes or my climbing shoes. I did not have any of the tools with me, with which I could have secured myself to a branch and made my own shortcuts. All I had with me was the clothing I wore, my cape and my best headgear.
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be angry with myself for my own foolhardiness, and with the world for not being what it should be. But I felt more tired than angry. I felt the numbing exhaustion of the lonely animal that has spent too many days running for his life and for his loved ones. I was tired of living and I was tired of hunting. More than that I was tired of living in a world where I knew it would not be possible for me to live.
I woke to the chiming of the bell.
The day had begun. I smiled, looking at Hector. As much as I wanted to move my arms and legs, I could not. I tried to shout out, but all that came out was a dry rasp in my vocal cords. I tried to raise my head and I found myself trapped under a mountain of blankets. I tried to shout again, but only a rasp came out.
Yes, everything was hazy, but everything was good. My eyesight was blurry, but at least I did not have to live in the world again. I was still alive, and that was all that mattered to me.