Once the first horn was in place, the Hare turned to grab the second while the Hyena inspected the first with his paw.
“What's this?” asked the Hyena, wiping a trickle of blood from his face. “Am I bleeding?” “No, no. That’s just sweat,” lied the Hare, holding up the second branch. “Just red sweat.” And the Hyena just whimpered, and said nothing. When at last the two horns were securely in place, the Hare took a hop back and admired his work. “It’s perfect,” he said, holding back his laughter. “Shall we go?” So the two friends set off together for the party. And while the Hare moved with a sprightly bounce in his step, the Hyena, who was now bleeding profusely from the head, struggled more with each passing stride. “Come on,” urged the Hare, “or we’ll be late for the party. We don’t want to miss out on all the meat.” So the Hyena gritted his teeth and walked on, whimpering loudly. When at last they came within view of the Great Gathering Place, the Hyena could barely stand. The blood, which continued to ooze out from the top of his head, had congealed over his face and neck, and he looked a frightful mess. But the Hare urged him on nevertheless, and after much effort, they reached the entrance. There, however, the Hyena finally collapsed. The Hare tried to rouse him, but it was useless—the Hyena was dead. So when the Antelope, whose feelings toward the Hyena were none too kind, came out from inside the party and saw him lying there, the Hare was quick to comfort him. “Don’t worry, my agile friend—the beast is dead. I have killed it.” The Antelope looked at the Hare, then at the bloodied body of the Hyena and back to the Hare, and laughed. “You must be very clever, indeed,” said the Antelope, “to have bested one so ferocious as the Hyena. Please come in and tell us about it over dinner.” And the two walked through the gate and into the party. |