A long horn then sounded out throughout the bustling camp, officially signalling the beginning of the hunt, much to the cheer of many, who rushed out their tents, with the wistful chants of bloody recognition and possibly even the exciting fate of an accidental romance, born of a chance encounter with a bejewelled crown upon a thornbush's prickling crest, as they enthusiastically headed to the western gate, which offered the most direct route to the mountain's depths.
And much like them, a similar cry escaped out from our tent also, as a rabid looking Cyrus rushed out of his room, asking with a feverishly exuberant expression "Has it begun?!"
"Yes, but..." I wanted to speak more, but like an ill-trained hunting hound who'd caught the scent of prey, my words couldn't reach him anymore, as he unhesitatingly charged into the door flaps neighbouring his own, which was quickly followed by Nizam's frantic protests.
