Gorilla Attack Human
Deep in the misty green heart of the rainforest, a group of hikers moved quietly along a narrow trail. Among them was Samuel, a nature photographer who had traveled far to study the majestic gorillas. The forest was calm, the air thick with humming insects and the rustle of leaves—until an unexpected sound echoed: SUUU! A powerful warning call, sharp and loud.
Out from the dense foliage stepped a massive silverback gorilla. His chest was broad, fur dark and thick, eyes full of strength and caution. He had not been startled, but he had noticed the humans come too close to his family. Again, the deep voice sounded: SUUU! This was not an attack of hatred, but a warning—pure instinct to protect.
The hikers froze. The gorilla stomped the ground, beating his chest once, a signal of dominance. Samuel slowly lowered his camera. He remembered the guides' instructions: never run, never scream, show respect. So he bowed his head slightly and stepped back.
The gorilla paused. His breathing slowed. Behind him, a female gorilla with a baby peeked out. The silverback turned away, leading them back into the forest shadows.
The sound of SUUU faded. The hikers continued on, humbled. Samuel realized that wildness is not cruel—it is protective, powerful, and deeply alive.
