Short Story – The mythical Kalahari

The microwaving sun overcooked the red sand, while three men looked at the sun-dried poop. First, they rubbed their chins and mimed that tripping over any twig could tip off the kudus.

Luckily, the wind blew the scent of their oniony armpits away from the animals, until a rabbit jumped out of the thorny bush before any of them could drop a stone inside a y-shaped catapult.

“An ant’s liver tastes better,” hissed Rukuenjaere, rubbing his rumbling tummy. Instinctively, they sprinkled the chocolate-brown leaves with pale-yellow water by lifting their goatskin aprons. Afterwards, they squinted at dogs-like spoors in the heel-crunching sand, while a cold shiver rubbed Rukuenjaere guitar-like spine. Suddenly, a quarrel broke out;

“It’s hyenas’ spoors,” hissed Katakaha, skewing his eyes.