There were pigs.
Not just one or two—but many.
Large ones with thick bodies. And several small piglets running around.
The thirty piglets he had left five years earlier seemed to have turned into an entire herd.
“No… that’s impossible…” he whispered.
Mang Tino, who had been walking behind him, stepped closer.
“That’s what I was telling you,” he said softly. “They didn’t disappear.”
“But… how did they survive?” Roger asked, still unable to believe what he was seeing.
Mang Tino sat down on a nearby rock.
“When you left, a few pigs were still inside the pen. They broke the fence and escaped. I thought they’d die in the forest. But they didn’t.”
Roger looked around.
Behind the piggery was a small stream he had never noticed before. Banana trees and sweet potato plants had grown around the area. There were coconuts and various wild plants.
“They learned how to survive in the mountain,” Mang Tino said. “And they kept multiplying.”
Roger stared at the herd. Some of the pigs raised their heads, almost as if they recognized his presence even after so many years.
One large pig walked closer to the fence. Its skin was reddish, and it had a scar on its ear—the exact mark of one of the first piglets he had bought long ago.
Leave a Comment