Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. I cannot see the source of the dull, relentless sound, but my ears tell me is that it is close by. My chest anxiously thumps its own tattoo in reply, and I have to stamp down an illogical fear that the beating of my hideous heart is a telltale to my own location. Birds do not thunk. Boars do not thunk. Deer do not thunk. Even educated fleas do not thunk. Only people thunk.
Somewhere nearby, another human being is grimly and mechanically hitting a tree with a rock, over and over again, and I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Rust [official site], old man – you’ve still got it.
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