Exploration

The trail before me bent awkwardly downhill to the right as I scrambled through the grasping undergrowth. Burgwallis Wood was nothing like the vainglorious lout that lent his name to it. My dad, George Burgwallis who had never done anything productive in his life save to sire my sister Ellie and myself. My poor Ellie, the memory was still too strong. I had stood at the bow of the Corazon de Oro watching as the pox-ridden Guía slipped below the horizon carrying my mother and Ellie with it.1

Shaking those thoughts from my head I surged on, finding a brief lull in the density of the wood. Standing I attempted to take my bearings; a task severely hampered by the encompassing trees. I was nearly certain that I had veered west toward the rushing Slone, though I could not hear its waters. Perhaps I had not travelled so far as I thought. 2

A sharp snap to my left dragged my attention back to the forest around me and I watched as a small, furry animal, no taller than my knee darted across the trail and disappeared into the brush. Moments later a second indigenous creature emerged from the trees, stopping in the middle of the trail to study the strange intruder. Its head can’t have been much higher than my groin and had a distinctly reptilian look. Standing on its hind legs, its forearms looked strong enough to pin its pray. Its mottled hide gleamed in the sun as it flicked its head sideways, perhaps to weigh me up as possible pray. Whatever its thoughts however, they were brought to an abrupt end as a dart, fired from somewhere ahead and to my left, pierced its neck; dropping it on the spot.3

Stunned by what I had just witnessed, I found my body rooted to where I stood, eyes scanning the now intimidating tree-line for unseen danger. Then, a soft brushing of leaf against leaf up ahead heralded the arrival of someone else into my clearing. He was shorter than me, maybe just short of six feet. His brown eyes watched me cautiously as he moved to ward his prize. He wore nothing but a chain of fish bones around his neck, his body dirt stained and repulsive. Reaching the fallen creature he picked it up, the only time he looked away from me since he entered the clearing. Oddly now, I felt no fear of him, just wonder that I should find someone else out here.4

We stared at each other what seemed like hours before he let out a “whoop” and disappeared back into the forest. I don’t know what compelled me but my feet started to take me after him. I crashed through the brush about six paces behind him but his knowledge of the area allowed him to easily stretch the distance. Suddenly fearful that I would be left lost in a tomb of trees that I could not navigate my way out of, I threw caution to the wind and increased my speed. 5

My lungs felt like they were about to give out when I swept through the tree cover and found myself in another clearing, this on much larger than the first and populated with about fifteen small huts. Everywhere unclothe people turned to look at the intruder, and at that moment I feared the worst. Two natives too my left held similar blow sticks to that which the hunter had used to fell the reptile. A third, standing in front of me held a sharpened spear. I grabbed for my belt knife, cursing my rashness for leaving my sword behind I took up a stance against attack. An attack that never came…