The Jackal and the Drum

A jackal, thin as a rumor, wandered onto an old battlefield. Wind moved through abandoned gear. Then came a sound like a god clearing his throat.

JackalSomething huge is eating the air. If I stay, I will be a second course.

He ran, then stopped, because hunger is a scholar of second thoughts. The thunder had no footsteps. It had a rhythm, and a tree.

A war-drum hung from a branch, its skin tight, its belly vacant. Each gust struck it, and the drum told the forest a battle that had already ended.

JackalSo. A mouth full of weather. I thought you were death. You are only furniture.

He tore the drum for the hide, found nothing to eat inside, and went on wiser. Fear that is not inspected becomes a king. Look into the noise before you kneel to it.