Proof

“You’ll need proof,” the old man growled. “How are you gunna convince the others that you did it on your own?”

His grandson smiled tossing his strong dark curls.

“They’ll see,” he said.

The two were staring at the wild boar, recently dead, part of the boy’s initiation quest in this wild mountain country.

“I hardly believe it meself,” said the older man. “All you had was me bow and arrow when you set out today.”

“Yes. And I only needed one arrow.  I had no choice really. The boar was charging me. I had to stand and face it. Look past those wicked tusks and crazy eyes and let the arrow find it’s mark in the chest.”

“The others will never believe you though,” said the old man. “They’ll want proof.”

“Will this do?” asked the boy lifting his shirt. Two perfectly round tusk holes streamed blood from his belly.

“It kept coming after the arrow hit,” he said as he toppled over beside the boar.

© Renee Hills 

This story was published in Short and Twisted, Celapene Press 2017