A quarter million in a tertiary country had died of starvation in the year prior.  A gang of primary countries met at a mountain resort.  He was to follow a photographer who told of a village people too weak to fend off predator animals.  She showed aerial photos of wolves and hyenas and vultures loitering among helpless humans while some among them took bites.  She told of a man not strong enough to react to a hyena’s bite till his thigh had been torn into.  It was within moments that he, sitting next to her, first felt blood flowing hot from his thigh.  Such that he knew he needed immediate attention.  No, he could see no blood seeping through his pants, but could he trust his eyes?  These were dark pants.  He quickly touched his thigh, felt around the body, recalling an infantryman’s instructions to ‘feel yourself completely’ when something horrific cuts one off from being conscious of where he was.  It quickly brought him back to the real, back at the long witness table, looking up to the gang on the dais, and leaning forward to subject them with answers they already knew.