Last days of the king
Picture book
Picture book
It all started with me wanting to draw a rugged hunter going after wolves twice his size. A picture that reminded me of those scenes the master artists of the past excelled at visualising. Images so larger than life that they had to be put into museums.
At one point, the hunter was supposed to be riding what I can best describe as a train with robot legs. What do you do with the wolves, then? It was only making sense to make them even huger, so that the fight would seem fair. All of this was starting to sound silly (doesn't mean I'm not going to write such a story in the future), so finally I decided to refer to sir Ernest Seton's memoirs chronicling his search for a vicious band of wolves causing trouble in the Southwestern United States. This version admittedly takes a lot of liberties in retelling the story so I suggest you take a look at the original text if it interests you.
The images you're about to see are in fact huuuge double spread pages that should be looked at as a whole, rather than two separate pages, hence the landscape format. I'm including transcripts below the corresponding pages.
This should be read as entertainment. There is no hidden agenda, I'm not trying to convert you to whatever beliefs, etc.
At one point, the hunter was supposed to be riding what I can best describe as a train with robot legs. What do you do with the wolves, then? It was only making sense to make them even huger, so that the fight would seem fair. All of this was starting to sound silly (doesn't mean I'm not going to write such a story in the future), so finally I decided to refer to sir Ernest Seton's memoirs chronicling his search for a vicious band of wolves causing trouble in the Southwestern United States. This version admittedly takes a lot of liberties in retelling the story so I suggest you take a look at the original text if it interests you.
The images you're about to see are in fact huuuge double spread pages that should be looked at as a whole, rather than two separate pages, hence the landscape format. I'm including transcripts below the corresponding pages.
This should be read as entertainment. There is no hidden agenda, I'm not trying to convert you to whatever beliefs, etc.
They know I'm here.
This is their sanctuary.
This is their sanctuary.
I've lost count of the months I spent hunting down the most insidious band of wolves that ever walked the West.
Their leader, a beast of fearsome proportions, his strength only rivaled by his cunning, is my most tenacious adversary yet, referred to as...
Lobo. None of the ingenious traps and formidable setups that served me so well in my career as the most sought after hunter in the West managed to bring him down.
The old idea that a wolf is constantly in a starving state and therefore ready to eat anything doesn't apply to Lobo and his pack.
They slaughter livestock by the hundreds, apparently for the fun of it, without so much as consuming an ounce of their flesh.
They slaughter livestock by the hundreds, apparently for the fun of it, without so much as consuming an ounce of their flesh.
Lobo is the perfect opponent. We are driven by the same commitment to our craft.
I hunt. Therefore I am.
I hunt. Therefore I am.
And this time, I've arrived with a plan. A plan so deviously and flawlessly calculated, it can't fail.
Finally. Lobo's mate. Blanca. The only member of the pack allowed to run ahead of the leader, and live.
Finally. Lobo's mate. Blanca. The only member of the pack allowed to run ahead of the leader, and live.
Wolves have a habit of approaching every carcass they get the wind of...
...even when there's no intention of eating it.
Lobo would've suspected my handiwork in this setup.
...even when there's no intention of eating it.
Lobo would've suspected my handiwork in this setup.
My target happens to be foolish enough to ignore the leader's judgement.
Lobo's reply to the roar of the gunshot is the most haunting cry to ever fill my ears.
One hundred and thirty strong steel wolf traps.
It is time.
My adversary is in a reckless mood.
Every single one of his legs got caught, yet he still dares throwing a defiant, unflinching glare into my eyes.
I can't kill him.
All die, it is said, of a broken heart.
Back at the camp, I secured Lobo with a collar and strong chain. He refused to eat or drink, and didn't acknowledge his captors' presence.
When the morning dawned, he was lying still.
Back at the camp, I secured Lobo with a collar and strong chain. He refused to eat or drink, and didn't acknowledge his captors' presence.
When the morning dawned, he was lying still.
And now, some details!
