Adventure of Mariposo

They stumble from the drainage channel onto roots slick with midnight dew. The Emerald Jungle closes around them, a vast canopy swallowing every star while faint phosphorescent blooms paint the soaked leaves blue-green.

Veyran still carries the records beneath his crimson robes. Mariposo clutches the sealed scrap against his chest, its noble seal gleaming with the same authority that condemned the Rhukkhadevata clan.

Behind them, a distant horn rolls through the trees, followed by splashing and the muffled calls of pursuers finding the old channels. The sound remains far off, swallowed and returned by the jungle.

A warm wind stirs the hanging vines. Somewhere ahead, water trickles over stone, and broad leaves offer a shallow shelter beneath their dripping arches.

Veyran searches beneath the dripping canopy until he finds a hollow strangler fig, its roots forming a cramped dry chamber above the mud. He scrambles up, scraping his palm raw against the bark, but reaches the shelter.

Mariposo follows, ducking beneath the roots and drawing the sealed scrap close. The hollow is narrow, but its raised floor is dry, and broad leaves conceal the entrance from the forest floor.

Veyran settles beside Mariposo, pressing his scraped palm against his robes to stanch the blood. Outside, rain ticks on the leaves while the hidden chamber gives them shelter and a few precious hours of darkness.