Withering Hope
“It'll be our last meal before we leave, and I want it to be nourishing. We have some leftovers from the bird Tristan caught yesterday, but it won't be enough. My stomach constricts at the sight of numerous, fresh paw prints on the ground. Tristan prepares the bait we'll use to lure the jaguars away. I pray it'll work and climb in one of the trees on the inside of the fence, a basket hanging from my left hand. I find enough nests on the upper branches to fill my basket with eggs. My thoughts kee...p flipping between being so close to safety and my rapidly approaching encounter with Chris. I'm not paying as much attention as I should to my surroundings when I jump down from the tree, my basket filled with eggs. I scan the area for any signs of a jaguar waiting to sink its fangs into me and rip me apart, and seeing none, proceed back to the plane. Or at least I attempt to.
It's not a jaguar that stops me, but a sharp bite on my left ankle. I cry out, dropping the basket.MoreLess
It's not a jaguar that stops me, but a sharp bite on my left ankle. I cry out, dropping the basket.MoreLess
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