Drunken Huntsman

A personal sculpt I created in ZBrush, inspired by a scene I once saw on TV as a child — a moment that stayed with me ever since.
I wanted to capture the irony and cruelty of that memory — the drunken hunters rejoicing, and the poor wolf lying lifeless beneath them.
This piece is both a study of expression and gesture, and a quiet homage to the creature I once felt sorry for. I also wrote a poem

The Drunken Huntsman

Drunken laughter wakes the night,
cries and songs break the forest’s quiet.
By the snare beneath the ancient oak,
they drag the wolf—the trap has spoke.

“Blood-fiend he was!” the hunters cry,
“that cursed beast must surely die!
He robbed our flocks, the bane, the dread—
a heavy reckoning now on his head!”

In muddy pit his life began,
a wretched birth, alone, unmanned.
He warmed beneath his mother’s fur,
her gentle snout, her muffled purr.

Yet ne’er saw sheep, nor fold, nor keep,
but roamed the woods where shadows creep.
Fed on the dead, on carrion’s breath,
and wandered roads that whispered death.

Now poor he lies, no crime, no sin,
in blood’s cold pond, his body thin.
Above him bends a drunken brute,
with sharpened stake and rifle mute.