I slept under the dense foliage of a rubummer tree. Droplets of water from the perspiring tree rolled off the heart shaped leaves and onto my face. It was hot and sticky in the Clart jungle. And I couldn't sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. Strange fell beasts roamed these lands. I could hear them. I could smell them.
Some way off, Hom-Ken sat in a lotus style posture and his small precise eyes stared into the darkness. The Scroturai have keen night vision. And Hom-Ken was nae exception.
Cirius and Nevermind were no where to be found. Presumably they had gone the way of Fuk-mei-Raw and were skewered on some rock or tree from the foundering of the Naughty Nun.
"Use your shoe as a spade"
These were the last words Hom-Ken had uttered to me - some five days ago. His silence was infuriating. He had spoken these words under a keen silver moon as we buried the strangely smiling face of Fuk-Mei, who had gone the way he wanted to - with a thick length in his netherhole.
I eyed Hom-Ken with hatred as he meditated in the darkness. I wanted his death.
I sharpened a piece of branch into a spear with a cuntflint and felt my blood boiling over. There was no way I was trekking into this jungle in search of an insane Scroturai Lord. The first chance I got, and I would only get one - I will kill Hom-Ken and attempt to find passage by the river.
He looks at me in the blackness. I feel he reads my thoughts. It's just him and I now. One of us will not traverse this jungle alive. I just pray that I get my chance.
We move on now. In the dark. To avoid the hideous Clarts. Hom-Ken takes point.
I follow quietly with my piece in my hand. Waiting.
Jez.
