Wild Boars of the Iberian Forest

Oliver padded softly along the winding path, following the neat twin hoofprints as they slipped between cork oaks and low, scratchy shrubs. Above him, the trees held up thick, knobbly branches with bark like puzzle pieces, some neatly cut away where people had carefully harvested the cork. Sunlight sprinkled down in golden coins, dancing on his whiskers.

Every few steps, the tracks paused and turned aside. Here, the soil was freshly stirred, as though someone had gently ploughed it with a small, strong nose. Oliver knelt to inspect the ground. Broken acorn shells, beetle wings, and a few chewed roots lay scattered.

“Ah,” he wrote in his notebook, “wild boars are forest gardeners. They dig for food and mix the soil, helping new plants grow.”