Timestamp: 10th of Fall, 518 A.V.
Nights in the jungle weren't all stories lent them to be. There were no birdsongs twenty four hours a day. Monkeys didn't call out mournful tunes. It rained... all night sometimes. And the temperature dropped drastically, sometimes becoming so cold one could see ones breath. And so people lit fires to warm their tents, cabanas, and camps. And those fires brought swarms of flies. Those flies bit and caused welts. They were tenacious and voracious and small enough insect netting didn't really help keep them off because they could slip through the average weave.
Those that were smarter camped out on the beach or in the fringe along the beach where the jungle didn't have true control. Along the margins in the true area of Syka, one could walk out boldy and be relatively confident that the things overhead or the things underfoot wouldn't hurt them.
Deeper in the jungle, one coudln't stare at ones feet long because something would drop down on them from above or they'd walk straight into a webbing from an exotic and toxic spider. And if you kept your eyes on the sky and canopy too long, your foot would stomp something alive, normally fanged, and unimpressed with you trodding upon them.
Syka was paradise on the surface, but if one looked deeper it was as deadly as it was beautiful. If someone respected it, got to know it, and embraced all of it, they generally got along better than those that simply lived for the bounty, the beautiful blue-green water, and the false sense of peace.
The Jungle was vicious, demanding, and held many things in its fold... some horrific and some lovely.
Okara's small camp, the tiny tent, was no way to survive her claimed stream and her lush rainforest. The rain pelted the tent and she often had to move it up as the stream grew swollen from the constant nightly rains. It was so cold, finding tinder was hard, and finding dry wood even harder within the jungle. She'd had to carry driftwood dried on the hot sands of the beaches to fuel her fire. And if she let it set too long, it would be soaked and useless like everything else around her.
The nights were the worst. Alone in the jungle, constant rain pelting the tent, and everything saturated with damp, it was hard to find rest. It was hard to not be alone. Often, the residents sought out The Commons to break the monotony, and to stop the dreams that sometimes plagued the denizens of Syka.
Okara's dreams of late had the same theme. Something deeper in the jungle called to her. It was trapped.... needed help... needed her help. It was a silky smooth voice in the darkness. Rich, deep, completely compelling...
And it was growing weaker, night after night, as it sung its song to her... its voice fading away, apologizing for bothering her... .but really really needing her. North and west.... it sang. Come north and west and find it... help it.
If Okara was to ask around at The Commons, no one else was having similar dreams. Their dreams were of the jungle eating them, predators descending, no water anywhere, water everywhere, poisonous plants, poisonous frogs, poisonous spiders... fish that would eat them, fish they would eat... all kinds of crazy things. But no one heard the silk voice so compelling and alluring.
