SEARCH FOR THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
The humidity in the air was so high that R.T. couldn’t tell if he was sweating or if it was water condensing on his body that made him so moist. He brought down the machete to chop at a giant jungle leaf in front of him. The machete nearly slipped from his hand. If he cut himself, the situation would be dire. This far into the jungle, there was no telling how long it would take him to limp back, especially if the gash caused him to bleed out.
R.T. stopped, put the machete him the ground and adjusted his gloves. Muscle weakness was the only real explanation for the slip of the machete. He opened his canteen and took a generous swig. Getting dehydrated would be a terrible thing; drinking contaminated water would only exacerbate the situation.
He swished the stale water in his mouth and swallowed slowly to fully experience the taste of the canteen. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his forearm and picked up the machete. It was time to find what he had been blazing this trail for. He couldn’t be sure if it was near or far. He was sure that if he stopped or turned back, he would never find it. That wasn’t an option. This artifact could be his claim to fortune and glory.
He took mental stock of what he was carrying and hacked his way further into the jungle. Nightfall was still a ways off. If he kept his pace steady and his calculations were correct, it would only be a couple of days in the sweltering heat before he reached the Cooling Pond – the first landmark on the vellum map. The problem was that he was never really good with figures – any figures, come to think of it. His chuckle sounded like missed opportunities and tactful rejections.
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R.T. stopped, put the machete him the ground and adjusted his gloves. Muscle weakness was the only real explanation for the slip of the machete. He opened his canteen and took a generous swig. Getting dehydrated would be a terrible thing; drinking contaminated water would only exacerbate the situation.
He swished the stale water in his mouth and swallowed slowly to fully experience the taste of the canteen. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his forearm and picked up the machete. It was time to find what he had been blazing this trail for. He couldn’t be sure if it was near or far. He was sure that if he stopped or turned back, he would never find it. That wasn’t an option. This artifact could be his claim to fortune and glory.
He took mental stock of what he was carrying and hacked his way further into the jungle. Nightfall was still a ways off. If he kept his pace steady and his calculations were correct, it would only be a couple of days in the sweltering heat before he reached the Cooling Pond – the first landmark on the vellum map. The problem was that he was never really good with figures – any figures, come to think of it. His chuckle sounded like missed opportunities and tactful rejections.
Want to read more or write the next section? Check out this page on how to do it.
