The sky outside had turned completely dark, the ubiquitous birdsong had vanished without a trace, and the dense forest fell into utter silence. The jungle at night was still stifling, with no wind, only humidity and heat. The night cloaked the entire forest, with the trees outside the campsite consumed by darkness; only their vague shadows remained under the weak moonlight, like monsters lurking in the cover of night, spying on the hidden campsite.
Occasionally, the dense forest would emit a rustling sound, seemingly far yet near, elusive and uncertain. In reality, it was nothing more than the friction of branches and leaves, which sounded like the murmurings from hell itself. If one listened closely, within the rustling sounds, one could often hear the distant and feeble wails of agony and despair, communicating a reluctance to let go of life.
