Your troops are uncomfortably silent. You don't blame them. The world around them is dark, alien, and alive.
The torch has a second purpose than just for light. It keeps the bugs at bay. The bloodsuckers are scared of the fire. They love the damp and the dark. Their bites unbalance the humours. Some bitten by them fall to horrific fevers and convulsions.
Colorful birds dart across the tree branches above you. Their sudden movements cause your paranoid eyes to scan the canopy.
The snap of a branch. The call of some strange animal. A cough. A curse. A man tells a joke to break the tension, his comrades laugh. But the terror of such a world quickly settles back in.
You keep scanning the edges of the paths. Such an instinct was burned into you during The War. Established paths such as these are prone to ambushes.
Arrows pour down from the sides. Men cry in agony. All—
You strike yourself on the head with your own fist. Elya glances at you.
She's been silent since you entered the jungle. The glow of her torch flickers across her face, revealing an expression of unease. Darin and Velinor hold the rear of the column.
Your mind is alight with memories and instincts.
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