The Jungle Provides

by **Zukwa** on July 24th, 2014, 10:51 am

6th Day of Summer, 514 A.V.

The jungle wilds were as alive as they ever were. Vibrant green leaves and darkly alive vines layered Falyndar thickly, hiding for the most part those creatures too timid to walk boldly. The jungle was danger, but it was life as well. Everyone in these lands, whether it was Myrian, Dhani, or beast, lived by the same harsh rules. You were only as strong as you were, and when you met that which was stronger you had to run or hide or kill. Or be killed. Zukwa was not so different from the brightly colored bird that fled into the sky as his rapid approach.

But he was one of Myri’s chosen people. The harsh nature of the wilds was his nature as well.

The lean youth leapt from large outcropped root to stone to fallen branch. His dark skin gleamed with sweat already, though Syna had just broke into the sky and the day was yet chill. Wild braids of hair flew chaotically behind him like some mane of a beast. The Myrian gripped each perch with his feet and fought for balance. As a member of a fang he needed to be agile and acrobatic. He needed to be able to move amongst the foliage of the jungle without stirring up sound. This was one of the fastest ways.

Zukwa leapt wildly from a still cold stone to the miss covered base of a gigantic root that snarled out from it’s tree boldly. His foot slid as he landed, the moss wet with morning dew, and his toe caught on the hard, unyielding bark of the tree. It ripped a large piece of one of his toenails off and left the rest of it jutting wilding out from his foot. Zukwa fell from the root onto a thorny bush below. He grimaced, knowing he had already broken his silence with the fall, but would not shame himself by breaking it further with an exclamation of pain.

He sat up. Before inspecting the offended toe, Zukwa unsoldered the composite shortbow from his back and made sure the weapon did not take any damage. Thankfully he had landed on his side and the weapon remained intact. Zukwa shifted his dark eyes onto the toe. Blood was now thick between his toes. It was not a very serious wound, though it burned a bit. The pain was nothing he could not handle. But the blood, and from his foot, posed a problem. He would leave a trail of the stuff anywhere he went and could attract predators. Zukwa sneered as he grasped the bit of toenail still attached to his foot and ripped it from him. He examined it for a moment, then tossed it away.

The Myrian sat and contemplated his surrounds while trying to figure out how to bind his wound. Upon closer scrutiny he found that not only had his toenail come off, but the flesh was ripped between his toes and that was what had produced the copious blood. He did not recognize many of the plants around him, but truth be told he knew less than he should of herbal remedies. His mother had taught him a few commonly known things to look for, such as Bloodcaps to fend of hunger, but he had been more consumed with the thrilling stuff as a child. The Myrian regretted not listening more intently now.

But then he heard it. The faint trickle of moving water.

by **Zukwa** on July 24th, 2014, 12:02 pm

Zukwa moved through the jungle, determined not to let the would impede his leaping practice. The foot ached dully as he jumped from rock to log to tree side where he could. Mostly he was forced to move across the uneven ground. He would attempt to jump over larger bushes though, his legs and arms flailing as he more often than not tumbled into of past the plant. He had seen warriors who could run amongst the upper tree branches and descend to the ground by swinging down from branches or vines. The true mark of a master of the jungle was to not let it impede you.

He would not be impeded.

Zukwa ran, elevating it to an easy sprint. His feet dug into the soft earth and fallen foliage as he increased his speed. The Myrian hopped onto a low log and shifted his momentum. He launched himself off of the log in the same motion, propelling himself up onto the first in a series of boulders that were the only option of ascent on the particular rise he had come to. The Myrian gripped the rough contours of the stone underneath him with his toes. Some Myrians chose to wear sandals, and probably would not have the wound he now did were they in his place. But he liked top fashion himself a dependent on nature. His feet were meant to grip and to feel, to add stimulation, not be encased in a bit of leather so they did not experience pain. He did not regret his bare feet, even with one bleeding.

Zukwa was moving to the sound of the water for two very particular reasons. One was that he needed to wash the blood from his foot to keep it from catching rot. The second was a vague memory that had crept into his head whilst he sat in the thorny bush. His mother, bent low over a damp stream bed. She was younger then, as was he. She had pulled from the wet face of a rock a vine branch that bore pale white flowers drooping down from it towards the earth.

Slug Heart. The flower grew near fresh water against solid surfaces, twining itself around rocks and strong trees. It was a very useful plant when it came to situations like his present one. Zukwa remembered his mother had slit open his finger and then squeezed the liquid from the flower over it. She had rubbed the stuff into the shallow wound until his blood turned the sap into a pale pink color. The thing did not get infected or bleed any longer. Zukwa hoped to find some of the flowers at this water source before returning to Taloba.

Zukwa scrambled from boulder to boulder as he moved up the rocky hillside. Ge glanced down between leaps, seeing chasms of anywhere from a few to a dozen feet below as he flailed through the air. He would have taken forever to climb the hillside if he had wove between the boulders… and there was no telling for certain what was down there.

Finally, he reached the crest of the hill, and on the other side was a face littered with bright green ferns rather than the mossy rocks he had been navigating. The slope downward connected to another twisting slope about seventy yard away and in the valley between them, like a silver vein on stone, was the stream bed. Zukwa smiled, his triumph apparent to any witness, for he did not wear the cloth over his face whence in the jungle.

The Myrian moved down the slope in a rush, happy to have remembered a bit of his mother’s teachings that he thought lost. He was eager to try it and see if the makeshift salve would work. But that was assuming the flower grew at this stream. He came to the water’s edge and found it flowing easily from what could barely be called a waterfall about two hundred yards uphill to the north. The Myrian dipped his foot into the water, on guard for predatory fish or snakes as well now. He wiggled his toes and watched the dark red swirl with the water and be carried off, eventually dissipating into the stream.

Eventually he pulled his foot out and stood. The bank of the stream that he was currently on was relatively flat and easy walking, with the occasional rooty overhand that had to be navigated. Zukwa kept his eyes on the rocks and trees near the river’s edge. He saw no white flower. But he did eventually come to a small cluster of boulders where bundles of pinkish flowers grew, sheltered from damage by two large Mikmik trees.

Zukwa bent to examine the flowers. He racked his brain for the memory again, a fleeting thing spawned when he was only nine or ten. The white blossom in his memory was heavy with a sticky liquid, hanging from its stem like nature’s bell. If he remembered correctly the seed of the flower was encased in the sticky liquid. The flower would only be useful to the Myrian if the seed had not fallen yet. The syrupy protection juices around the seed was his goal, and fell with the new pod upon blooming.

Zukwa knelt low and gently ripped a few of the flowers from a nearby rock. They were all blooming and he could not even tell if it was the Slug Heart from memory. Zukwa threw down the thin branch and flower petals scattered over the dark grey and green rock next to him. It took him a few minutes, but he was eventually able to find a vine of the flowers that had been tucked into the shade of the twin Mikmik trees and had not bloomed. The Myrian hissed in pleasure.

by **Zukwa** on July 24th, 2014, 1:24 pm

Zukwa pulled one of the blossoms from the vine carefully. He inspected the pink petals and found that they came off easily when pulled. But nestled within the protective layers of pink was the real prize. A single seed was covered in a gunky syrup that was the primary source of the flower’s weight. Zukwa Found that the substance was sticky to the touch, clinging to his fingers as he carefully extracted it from the flower. He was almost completely sure this was indeed the Slug Heart.

Zukwa messily pulled the seed from the majority of the gunk and dropped it on the ground. As he reached for a second flower from the same shaded vine, he pushed the seed into the ground with his big toe. Waste not. The second flower held an identical seed, though this one was mangled. His fingers had pressed the petals into the protective sap and Zukwa spent the next few minutes trying to extract the petals from the sap whilst maintaining the substance he had acquired from the first flower. In the end he had two hands nearly covered in the syrup and a set of crumpled flower petals.

He sighed and decided that would have to do. Zukwa spread his toes and glanced down at the cut. Though he had cleaned it minutes ago in the stream, it was now congealed with blood once again, the ragged edges of his skin reaching out from his body. It looked quite gnarled for such a minor injury. Zukwa gritted his teeth, not knowing whether the application of the sap would cause pain. He did not want to yelp like a child. But as Zukwa rubbed the sap between his toes he was surprised to find it actually felt soothing.

The coolness of the sap sated the throb of the cut. Zukwa took one finger and began to gently kneed the sticky stuff into a paste over his wound. He carefully covered the whole thing with it. The cut was small enough that the two flowers had provided more than enough liquid to cover it. He was just starting to feel pleased with himself when he heard the rhythmic crunching of dead leaves and wood. Someone or something was approaching the stream.

Zukwa dipped his hands in the water and rubbed the remainder of the syrup off on the leather of his chest armor. Gripping his weapon, he drew and notched an arrow before sliding out from behind the Mikmik tree. It was not someone, nor something, but four somethings. Shaggy brown fur and thick, sturdy legs shambled in a loose group down to the stream and each dipped a curved snout into the water.

Nandhai. Zukwa let the lean form of the composite shortbow in his hand fall to his side. He returned the arrow to its place in his quiver. Though large and dangerous, the Nandhai were not outwardly hostile to those who did not threaten them. That being said, Zukwa could be seen as threatening their watering space. If that were the case, the Nandhai could charge and very easily kill him.

The Myrian needed to find a stealthy way to slip across the stream and continue on back to Taloba.

by **Zukwa** on July 25th, 2014, 12:02 am

Zukwa’s movements were slow and as soundless as he could make them. He did not want to startle the Nandhai into thinking he was attacking. The Myrian hung his weapon across his back, a maneuver he only did when he needed both his hands free. He turned his critical gaze to the area around him. With four Nandhai just on the other side of the larger of the two Mikmiks and a small bussel of ferns, he did not have much room to maneuver.

He could make a break down the bank, and hope that they would not spook into charging him, though he doubted he could outrun them if he did so. The heavy root outcroppings along the bank from thirsty trees made it almost impossible for his to be able to move at anything more than a light jog. Zukwa could try to sneak back up the hillside. But he would be exposed and the blanket of bright green ferns coating the ground would make unavoidable noise. It was not an option.

The Mikmik above him was heavily laden with it’s fruit, though none looked ripe enough for consumption. Zukwa was not inspecting the tree for the nourishment it might bring, but for the low branch that hung parlously across the stream. If the Myrian could get up to that branch he could conceivably cross the stream without alerting the Nandhai to his presence. He was not exactly the best climber, however.

It could not be helped. The Myrian made his hands into fists, hearing the knuckles crack and feeling the cool stiffness from the stream water leave them. The youth began to climb. By now Syna had found his way, as ever, to the highest reaches of the sky. Zukwa was squinting up into the light the goddess poured down upon the jungle. The bark of the tree was smoother than he would have liked, but he was able to attain a firm grip. The tree dug into his fingers, turning the deeply tanned skin a pearly white with the pressure. The Myrian hugged his legs to the trunk of the tree, which was about twice as wide as he was.

All in all, the Mikmik were a gnarled and twisted species of vegetation. Climbing up to the branch was not as challenging as it might have been. The contours of the spiraling and shifting trunk gave Zukwa’s feet just enough purchase to lift himself. The Myrian bared white teeth in the effort of hauling himself up. He was careful not to make too much noise as he climbed though. The occasional grunt or strained sigh escaped his lips however. Eventually he found himself within an arm’s reach of the branch he intended to use as a bridge.

The Myrian concentrated hard. This next maneuver would call upon the entirety of his acrobatic inclination in its execution. The youth put his outer hand around an outcropping of bark on the Mikmik and pulled, ensuring it’s stability. Then he wrapped his inner arm up around the branch, grasping with claw like fingers at the thing. Propelling himself with his legs, the Myrian swung out over the stream below, quickly grasping at the branch with his outer hand. For a terrible moment he dangled by one hand from the branch over shallow water and rocks. Then after a few desperate panting ticks he was bear hugging the underside of the branch.

He looked down at the Nandhai, and they gazed back up at him silently. One of them reared up and squawked a challenge. But there was little the beasts could do to him.

Unless he fell from the branch. Hopefully once they saw him leaving they would be deterred from action.

by **Zukwa** on July 25th, 2014, 1:01 am

The jungle, and the Nandhai seemed to sit in stoic anticipation of his movements. Birds above cooed and squawked, as if placing bets to his fate. Zukwa clung to the underside of the branch, his dark red loincloth hanging low below him. The Myrian felt the sweat from his brow bleeding into his eyes, burning them. He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the salty water. When that did not work he simply shut his eyes and set himself to the task of moving across the river in blindness.

Zukwa hugged his forearms to the top of the branch, feeling Syna’s kiss on them even now. He methodically shifted one arm over the other in a slow inching out from the trunk of the tree. He strained his abs, willing his core to bend upward. The Myrian’s body moved slowly, the energy it had taken to gain the hillside left him all but spent. Slowly his tanned, bare legs lifted and he felt his feet brush against the bark of the branch.

The Myrian crossed his legs at the ankles around the thick shaft of the Mikmik branch and began to scoot himself across the stream. The Nandhai watched his progress without comment, though one of them tilted its head as if confused at his behavior. Zukwa bit gently into his lip.

The warrior’s shoulders and abs were on fire from the constant strain of battling gravity. He squeezed his eyes shut, seeing bursts of purple and blue in the darkness as he tugged his was along the branch. He could feel it getting thinner, eventually, and decided to stop and inspect his progress. Zukwa had come nearly the entire way across the stream. The Nandhai were still watching him from the now farther bank, silent as ever. One of them squawked again, shaking its head back and forth. The beasts were clearly not fans of him.

Zukwa felt the branch begin to bend under his weight, reaching back towards the earth, or more accurately the stream below. He was still about ten feet over the water and relatively certain he would injure himself further if he simply dropped here. The Myrian forced himself to continue his slow progress, ever under the watchful gaze of the Nandhai. Eventually he made it far enough that he was hovering over the opposite bank.

The Myrian let his feet dangle once more. His bare, dirty feet were only about four feet from the ground at this point. Zukwa released his grip on the branch and fell to the root earth beneath him. The Myrian buckled as he had been taught, rolling with his own momentum to avoid injury. He felt a rock bite into his thigh as he tumbled, but was unconcerned. Zukwa rolled, using the momentum to propel him back to his feet. Dirt and leaves were smeared across his side, but he had avoided injury and, more importantly, the Nandhai.

They watched him from the opposite bank, but two had returned to drinking the water from the stream. He was no longer a threat from so far away. Zukwa smiled at the beast that he presumed was the leader. He did not bear any ill will for the thing, this was simply the jungle way.

The Myrian soldier turned and began the jog back to Taloba.

by **Voodoo** on July 25th, 2014, 7:25 am

Your Powers Grow

Zukwa

Experience :

Lore :

Comments :

Solo The Jungle Provides