I am greeted by the petrifying sight of thirty or sixty or seventy buffalo looming large at a distance, each of them staring at me. Just staring would be okay; I could handle that. But these are also coming at me.
I just stand there turned to stone, waiting for something to happen – something other, that is, than having a herd of cape buffalo running toward me. If it weren't for Peter, they surely would have trampled me to death. Fortunately, he recollects himself just in time to yell at me to get my ass behind the tree.
The tree. Hmm . . . What tree?