the smuggler’s bible

Spackle

Spackle moves through the undergrowth cautiously—his eyes swivel and scan, he tastes the air to know its currents. To keep himself alert, he lists the names of the creatures which have hunted him and gone home hungry to their burrows and nests.

Rustle. Snap. Grunt. Scuff. Hiss. Bellow. Chatter.

The beasts are swift and deadly, but Spackle is cunning.

Rattle. Rasp. Scratch. Snort. Caw. Clack. Patter.

Spackle does not fear the creatures he has bested. He fears the final predator, the one which will make no sound. Spackle is afraid of the beast whose name he will never know.