He felt brave--a fearless strong buck of unending courage--as he stepped through the shifting swamp. There was nothing that could take him down, nothing that could scare him. And he strolled through as though mortality itself would not dare show its fearsome face to him.
His hooves sunk slightly in the mud and he took no notice of it. He turned his attention instead to the fragile blossom of a pink bud that tried valiantly to bloom in the shady area. That, that proved to be a grave mistake.
A crocodile camouflaged by the murky brown water took hold of chance. It lunged, jaws closing down around the hindquarter of the kimeti. The teeth sunk into tender hide and locked down tight.
He squealed and screamed, front legs trying desperately to pull himself from the grasp of the hungry beast. He kicked with his free hind leg. All the while that perfect little flower watched.
The beast jerked and the kimeti came into contact with the ground, now harsh and unforgiving. There was a tangy taste in his mouth as his eyes grew heavy, twitches and convulsions of fight lessening. And it was the sound of his heart, that bitter heartbeat, thudding in his ears that reproached him for his foolishness. He was not brave, he was stupid.
