Jack painted our faces; he said that it would help hunt the pig; that’s all he worries about. Sam and I are never apart, so it’s become a habit for everyone to refer to us as one and indeed we have become more attached.
We were supposed to have been watching the fire, but Jack showed up, we had to obey him because we had been with him the longest. We couldn’t Jack. Filled with guilt as we were, we followed him, tough we knew Ralph happy we went and shame walked with us.
We moved through the forest looking for a chance to strike. Jack was different since he painted his face. His movement was sure and quick, not backing out. We did the same as him, the mask made you feel powerful as if someone else and we relied on our instincts to hunt. Then we saw a dash of pink run by. Jack crouched and we gripped our spear tightly. Jack lead the attack after a split second; blood spilled, flesh was ripped and squealing traveled through the trees as adrenaline cursed through our veins as we worked and the fighting and squealing all came from the pig.
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