Summer brought heat, mosquitoes, and sweet fruits to the riverside village.
It was an ordinary day: children played with hoops, men mended fishing nets, and women cooked over clay fire pits. Everything was peaceful… until the drums arrived.
TUM TUM TUM TURUTUTUM
TUM TUM TUM TURUTUTUM
TUM TUM TUM TURUTUTUM
The villagers turned toward the jungle. Between the trees emerged an imposing group: the Amazons, warriors with fierce gazes, armed with spears and adorned with feathers and paint.
They advanced in formation, each step thundering, making the huts vibrate.
"People of this village!" roared their leader, her voice shaking even the chickens. "We seek the chosen one!"
The village men looked at each other, confused.
"The what?"
"The who?"
"Is there a chosen one here and nobody told us?"
The leader raised her spear to the sky.
"Tall as the mountain, strong as the jaguar, cooks like a shaman, flees like a deer. That man is here."
Murmurs multiplied, and the village men secretly clenched their fists, burning with envy.
"That guy… he conquered all the Amazons?"
"And he even cooks! Damn it, why didn't I learn to cook instead of fish?"
Meanwhile, behind a cart of vegetables, a man in an overly short tunic and a crooked straw hat tried to disappear.
Kronk.
"Okay, stay calm. Just stay still… I'm a sack of cassava. Nobody notices sacks of cassava…"
He buried himself in dirt, breathing heavily.
The little angel floated beside him.
"Kronk, this is getting out of hand. You can't keep running every summer."
The little devil appeared, wearing sunglasses.
"And why not? It's a training plan! Steel legs, rock-hard glutes… and it keeps things exciting."
…
The Amazons swept through the village, moving blankets, opening huts, and searching stalls. Tension grew in the market.
One man sighed.
"That Kronk guy must be a demigod."
"Surely he also sings and dances like a nightingale."
"Bah! I could too if I tried…" muttered another, as a sack of corn fell on his foot.
Meanwhile, a group of village women approached the warriors. They pretended curiosity, but their excitement betrayed them.
"Excuse me… if you catch him, do you… share him?" asked a shy young woman.
"Yes, yes, just asking for my sister," added another, nudging her.
The leader arched an eyebrow.
"The vigor of the chosen belongs to all. It is our destiny."
The women sighed as if they had just received a divine message.
"How unfair… all the men here smell like fish and sweat."
The men, overhearing, gritted their teeth in anger.
"Damn chosen one!" they muttered in unison.
…
Kronk went into survival mode:
First, he disguised himself as a scarecrow, sticking himself to a post in the cornfield.
He remained perfectly still while crows perched on his arm. One pecked his bicep, and he yelped. Kronk whispered: "Shhh, little friend, don't give me away!"
Next, he hid inside a water barrel. Everything was fine until the barrel began leaking, leaving a perfect trail to the village fountain. Two Amazons followed it, only to find the barrel floating downstream with a cat on top.
Finally, he hid in the communal kitchen. He put on an apron, grabbed a spoon, and started stirring a huge pot. Just to be safe, he stuck on a fake mustache.
"Relax, Kronk, you're just a humble local chef half a meter taller than everyone else… nothing suspicious here…"
An Amazon entered and scrutinized him.
He was sweating oceans.
She tasted the soup.
"Good soup," she declared, leaving without suspicion.
Kronk exhaled in relief.
"Phew, that was close."
…
Everything seemed under control… until a village girl shouted:
"Mom! The muscle-cooking man is there, behind the stove!"
Silence fell for a second.
Suddenly, dozens of Amazons turned toward Kronk.
He raised his hand and waved nervously as his fake mustache fell off.
"Uh… hey there?"
Then chaos erupted.
Kronk sprinted at full speed, leaping over fruit stalls, while dozens of Amazons chased him, shouting war cries. The village men watched, furious.
"There goes the lucky bastard!"
"And he runs like a gazelle!"
"If they catch him, at least let him limp!"
The village women ran too, but not to catch him:
"Chosen one, wait! We want to talk!"
"Just a little bit!" they shouted.
Kronk zigzagged between chickens, hopped onto a donkey, and shot off, but the donkey refused to cooperate and threw him straight into a haystack. The Amazons nearly caught him, but Kronk got up covered in hay, rolled down a hill, and ended up in a water canal.
The current carried him away as he flailed his arms.
"Oh boy, here we go again!"
The Amazons reached the riverbank and saw only the current carrying him away, waving one last awkward goodbye.
The leader roared: "He's escaping again!" She raised her spear and swore to the sky. "No matter where he runs, sooner or later he will be ours. The chosen one will never escape his destiny."
The villagers sighed again.
The men muttered insults.
The women sighed in disappointment, as if they had missed out on the grand prize.
Downstream, Kronk surfaced, coughing, a fish dangling from his ear and a frog stuck to his shoulder. He flopped onto a sun-warmed rock.
"Okay… that was close."
The little angel appeared, arms crossed.
"Kronk, sooner or later you'll have to face this."
The little devil snapped his fingers, grinning.
"And what's wrong with getting caught by a harem of warrior women? Sounds like a happy ending to me."
Kronk sighed, staring at the clouds.
"I think next summer I'm spending my vacation… at the North Pole."
In the distance, the echo of drums sounded, as if the Amazons had never stopped chasing him.