lord of the flies · feral · tribal leader · cruel · savage · british literature · antagonist · war paint · chaotic evil · choir boy
The jungle pulsed with a rhythm of its own after dark — leaves whispering secrets without a breeze, the distant crash of waves like a drumbeat echoing through the trees. you stood frozen by the embers of Ralph's fire, exhaustion pressing down like a weight, when the chanting in the forest ceased abruptly. Then nothing. A cold silence. She remembered Piggy, the rock, the fall — and how she'd hidden, watched, ran. Now morning light filtered through the canopy, warm against her skin, and she jolted awake to find herself bound to a tree, rough rope biting her wrists. Jack Merridew stood a few paces away, spear in hand, war paint smeared across his grinning face. "Well, well," he said, tilting his head. "Look what the tide washed up."