Of the Forest of Vines
Running wild were the pigs. Their oinks spread through the thicket of branches like a wild fire who has ben starved for 1,000 years. Crazy people lurch from the canopy, dropping like pine needles. The pigs squeal and a man with hardly and cover over his parts hits a pig in the eye, with a spear as sharp as his aim. It falls, no longer whining as pigs do. It's curly tail just twitches as its adrenalin runs to an end. More and more drop. Soon it's silent but there is a cacophony of twitching tails. Bruised eyes leak juice as the pigs get tied by their hooves to belts and walked back through the thicket to become a meal for over 100 other barely clothed people of the Forest of Vines.