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Gather every hunter sharp enough to track and ruthless enough to survive. Forge them into a single blade—edges aligned, eyes locked on the jungle’s heart. That beast isn’t some mangy predator picking off strays; it’s a storm of teeth and claws that’s torn through entire war parties. Scattered, you’re just another meal. Stick together, watch the tree lines, and move like shadows tangled at the hip. Let pride split the group, and the terrain’ll gut you before the beast even catches your scent. Pack tactics. Flank hard. Drive it toward the cliffs, and make sure those spears bite deep. One opening’s all you get—mess it up, and the only thing left’ll be crows arguing over your bones.
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