I had chosen the barest tree I could find.

Everything in my pack, including the writing utensils and knife, had been strategically hung on the branches. I'd also taken off my boots, my socks, my belts and my jacket. The poor tree looked like an overgrown, bark-covered clothes horse.

Shirka hadn't moved.

Mitch, Gino, Ella, Lyong, and Nattaniel were nowhere in sight. Even though I'd paced the side of the riverbank, peering across the bank and listening intently, I could find no sign of the crew. I was alone.

The day was dying by the time Lennon T. James returned.

He was carrying his pack slung over one shoulder, the sheathed battle axe held on his back, and wood in his hands. His eyes were only for Shirka. Dropping the wood, he knelt next to the tiger.

He spoke to her, voice low and gentle.

From where I stood, I could see her ears twitch. His hands stroked down her spine, skimming over her wound and rubbing her head. There was a faint pur but it sounded dull. It was not the powerful and sweet sound that I loved; it was an exhausted, broken note.

Lennon T. James stood. He discarded his pack and axe, pulling something from his pant pocket as he walked to the wood.

I hurried forward. "Lennon T. James? Where are the others? Where are we? Do you think Shirka is going to be able to walk tomorrow?"

The questions fell from my lips. I had asked too little before, staying quiet because he was never forthcoming with information. Now, there was no more internal space to store questions. They needed answers, and they needed them now.

It was a shame the person holding the answers weren't giving them up.

"These are vurstokte, Shae. Fire sticks." Lennon T. James didn't look up from his hands. Deft fingers adjusted and readjusted the pieces of wood until they were perfectly placed, though I could detect no pattern. "They are the result of a parasitic moss grows on trees, sucking the life out of them."

I plunked down on the soft earth. It was damp but so were my clothes. The warm water in the air clung to my skin and coated the inside of my lungs.

Drawing my legs up, I rested my chin on my knees, hoping that by listening he'd keep speaking until answers came forth.

"It dries out the wood." He lit a match, the flare of light playing over his calloused fingers. "Wood dried by this moss are both highly flammable—" There was a whoosh as a stick ignited, the fire running into the pile and igniting the rest within seconds. " —and durable."

With the light from the campfire, I realised how dark it had really become.

The sight of a flame was welcome. We hadn't had one in weeks, not since coming to the jungle, and I was surprised how something so trivial brought so much comfort.

"We are downriver from the others." Lennon T. James glanced at me. "We will rejoin them as soon as we are able. They will move ahead."

Ah, an answer.

I considered this. "Where are we going?"

"The village." He was watching the fire, adding some more fire sticks where he saw fit. Sparks flew when one of the timber pieces fell, readjusting the whole campfire.

It was remarkable.

In a place no one could go, Lennon T. James knew of a village. Not only did he know of a village, but he knew the way to the village, the vegetation along the way, numerous animals, and all the 'unknown' dangers.

"What village?" Even with my previous questions unanswered, I launched into another list. "Who lives there? What was that... snake monster? Does it live in the river? What is the object around your neck?"

At that last question, his gaze shot to mine.

Note: Lennon T. James wears a necklace. A very manly leather strap adorned with a coin that is so scuffed and rugged no one would dare call it a word as elegant as 'pendant.'

He got up, turning his back on both the fire and me, and made his way over to his pack. Rummaging in it, the silence between us was broken by the sound of a crackling fire, the vicious strumming of Mallib Crickets, and the gurgling of the river.

I was able to spot a thick, puckered scar that wrapped around his side. It ran from under his ribs on his abdomen to the middle of his back. The fire threw shadows over it, and I looked away.

That would not be on my list of important questions.

He only spoke again when he was seated, clad in a white shirt that would've made Lyong jealous. It was unstained. It was well made. It was a classic piece every fashionable explorer should have.

It prodded another question. "Why is that you have an endless amount of clothing that never becomes worn out or stained?"

Lennon T. James quirked an eyebrow. If I was expecting an answer, I would've been disappointed, but as I knew he did not see fit to hold a conversation of importance, I was unsurprised.

He tugged the leather strap, pulling the coin from beneath his shirt and over his head. "See if you recognise this."

Even though his toss was perfect, arching over the campfire and aimed to land in my hands if I reached out, I did not react quick enough. I fumbled the coin, tangled the strap with my fingers, and lost my balance in the process.

The fire looked even better from my angle, lying down, and I was unmotivated to sit back up.

I rolled onto my back, straightened my legs, and crossed it at the ankles. Holding the coin up, I admired it in the dancing light of the fire.

One side was scuffed and notched, but held nothing beyond cold metal. The other had been stamped with a symbol I felt I should recognise. I spotted words inscribed at the bottom of the coin in a language long dead.

"The Tongue of the Ancients. Lennon T. James, where did you find this?" I sat up. "Have you had someone translate this?"

He stared at Shirka. "I don't need it translated."

"Of course you do! Do you know what it is? Where does it come from? Why did you show it to the river serpent?" I paused, remembering his moment of lunacy. "Also, what was that creature?"

Lennon T. James cocked his head to the side. He held up a hand when I opened my mouth, signalling me to be quiet, and then he raised his fingers to his mouth. The whistle that cut through the night silenced even the crickets.

They recovered quickly. So did I.

With a sigh that I could not suppress, I hugged my knees again. "Is there something we could eat? Do you have some water with you? Mine got swept away. Also..." I trailed off, wondering where this sudden rush of words came from. My hesitation didn't outweigh my curiosity. "Also, do you mind answering at least some of my questions tonight?"

At this last question, he suddenly looked at me again. "We'll have all three meals tomorrow, Miss Burrower, I promise. I had no time to find dinner."

"Oh, no, I wasn't upset." I wondered at his polite tone, aghast at being addressed as 'Miss Burrower.' "I know you don't talk that much and it doesn't offend me. But would you mind terribly explaining some of what's going on...?"

Truly, I was surprised at my own patience.

It was not fit to be called patience at this point. It was circumstantial.

I was tired, hungry, and drying so slowly, I wondered if I was drying at all. I had very little energy or emotional capacity left to feel irritated or patient. Besides, sitting across from Lennon T. James and having both his attention and protection, you wouldn't dare feel anything other than grateful. And honoured. And, maybe if I'm being honest, very confused.

"That creature was an Ivierslang." Lennon T. James fed the fire again, this time with sticks that crackled and shrivelled. "It is far from home but has been living in this part of the River of Zonn for several years now. It has eaten at least two people."

I shifted, looking towards Shirka to reassure myself she was alive. Her chest moved, up and down, and even from here I could see the hitch in its progress. Concern wrapped around my heart.

Lennon T. James shifted. "There is a network of rivers under the jungle. Deep, deep inside the earth. The Ivierslang makes it's home down there, most of the time, but can sense when people cross the barrier."

That word snapped me back into the conversation. "Barrier? What barrier?"

There was a wordless moment where he held my gaze. Uncommon, that his eyes followed his attention, and that he assessed me so obviously.

Note: Lennon T. James' eye colour is up for debate: green? Blue? Grey? Sometimes I even think they may be darker.

Such a shame: I have no poetic words for a colour no one can pinpoint. I apologise to the bards, in advance, and would like to place the blame where the blame belongs.

But I digress.

"The boundary of the jungle, Shae. We have crossed it." He stretched out a leg, leaning back onto his one hand. "And the Ivierslang--"

There was an angry buzzing that crashed over our conversation and interrupted the flow of answers the explorer was finally divulging.

The noise came from no particular place; it seemed to wrap around our surroundings. One second I was bathing in the light of a camp fire, the next I was blinded by a fierce gold light that shone into the very fibre of my being.

And then the crawl of a thousand Golden Glow legs covered my skin. Wings fluttered. Stingers scraped. Anteneas sniffed.

My eyes were scrunched closed. I fought the instinctive panic that urged my hands to swat and my arms to wave and my legs to run.

"Keep still until they settle, Shae."

I tried. I really did. Tremours ran beneath my skin, however, and I could feel the twitching in my limbs as I focussed on keeping them utterly frozen.

Barely parting my lips, I asked, "What are they doing?"

"Claiming you."

My eyes shot open. "What."

Note: Lennon T. James has one very obvious flaw: he is terrible at communication.

I apologize for ruining the rosy picture The Chileez Times and rumours have painted of our hero, but his communication is terrible. He is horrid at soothing anxiety, clearing confusion, or appeasing discontenment.

It's all words of direction.

Or short, one word answers to questions that demand an essay.

My eyes went to Shirka, who had raised her head in order to watch me. Her bright eyes held mine, and I relaxed.

The Golden Glows settled. They found a perch on my body-- the shoulders, my arms, my knees, my hair, the tips of my boots. Except for the occasional rusting of wings or shifting of tiny insect legs, they were content to sit quietly.

"What does it mean, that they claimed me?" I asked of Lennon T. James, even though I had grown quite discouraged of finding any answers.

He surprised me. "Shirka claimed me. I have her loyalty and all she asks is protection and guidance. We have a bond. I can't live without her." He started at the tiger who, despite being injured, looked as majestic as she did stalking in the veld. "Being claimed by a creature born in the jungle is uncommon but not rare. The Golden Glows will follow you for the rest of our sojourn in the jungle."

Note: Lennon T. James can't live without his tiger.

My sigh disturbed some of the little creatures sitting on my arms, who buzzed with irritation as they resettled. I shushed them.

Gathering all the courage I had left, I crossed my legs and adjusted my position. It sent a rippling effect over the Golden Glows, who moved with me. They didn't sound too put out.

After one last examination of the adventurer's coin, I tossed it back to him. He caught it, slipped it over his head and tucked back into his shirt.

I was out of questions, for the moment, wishing for answers, a good night's rest, and some personal space from my sudden pet insects. Anxiety clung to the inside of my skin. An accidental prick of a stinger or two, and I was dead.

My attention was grabbed by a whine. Looking towards Shirka, I now saw Decimus with her. He was sniffing at her wounds, nuzzling her fur. His brown hair was spotless, his tail hanging low from his distress, and he looked between Shirka and Lennon T. James with questions in his intelligent eyes.

Lennon T. James joined them without a moment's hesitation.

It was with his low, soothing voice in the background that I found a place to sleep, listening to the cadence of his words as he reassured his dog and his tiger. There were more words for the animals than the humans. And a whole lot more affection, I suspected.

The Golden Glows burrowed close to me, under a half-dried blanket and near the fire.

A low, four-note trill permeated the night air.

It rose above the campfire, above the treetops, above the river, who had grown lazy during the night. The melody trekked its way downriver, to a second campfire, where our fellow travellers were spending the night.

I was not there to witness the argument between Mitch Chavez and Wade Lyong. The report from the team was unclear whether it was about Ella Siwatskie eating the wrong coloured berries and losing her dinner all over Wade Lyong's blanket, or about Wade Lyong playing with a fire stick and burning Borys Nattaniel.

I was not there to take notes about Ella Siwatskie's successful attempt at making dinner, which did not end up poisoning anyone. Borys Nattaniel hated it. "It tasted like melted bark layered between leaves." Who knows how accurate he was. Ella sniffed when she heard that, raised her chin and looked away.

I was not there to write about Gino Morton staying up all night, because no one woke for their shift except Nattaniel, who had the last one. He had more of a headache the next morning because of sleeplessness. His lack of complaining did not hide it from the rest of them, as his twitch was aggravated and he stayed quiet amidst the squabbling of the others.

I was not there to see Wade Lyong's tumble into the river. He had been attempting to wash his hair though he denies it ever happened.

The night went by peacefully.

It's such a shame the birth of a new day brought about a swift descent into hell.

🙞

hello lovelies,

this chapter is a lacklustre attempt at fleshing out LTJ as a character and introducing more of the bigger plot.   it's a mess.   then again, so is shae's head right now, and so is mine, so what can you do when both writers are exhausted and confused?

thanks for sticking around!

you guys are literally amazing, a very bright spot in my very monotonous and stressful life.

i have a question, if you guys have a second: what would you like to see happen next? maybe not in a specific scene, but just in general regarding the overall writing & plot.

oh, oh, another q: what is not working for you? is there something in this story that is causing you to lose interest/boring you/not working in general for you?

<3 klara