//------------------------------//
// Chapter 15 
// Story: Freeport Venture: City of Giants 
// by Ponibius 
//------------------------------//


Puzzle Piece


Zhilius: the City of Giants. The center of the long dead empire of the dreaded Quinametzin. They were said to be giants who had ruled over the enslaved Dromaed with a bloody fist, using foul blood magics the likes of which have never been seen since. Their empire extended across a continent and stood for a thousand years, their might unchallenged. But in the end, they were punished by the gods for their many sins and struck down by great calamities that ended both the Quinametzin and their empire.

This one had its doubts. Part of this one's stock and trade was information, and part of that meant sifting through rumors. Rumors are inherently unreliable; spread from ear to ear, they morph in the process of communication, colored by the people that speak them and are sometimes based entirely in lies. But the thing with rumors is that there is almost always a kernel of truth to them, however obscure. Several rumors speaking of a king’s presumed misdeeds could hint at discontent with the crown. Talk of trade slowing can speak of wariness from merchants about the economy. What someone thinks about a rumor can say a great deal about them, such as their biases or how well informed they are.

Myths and legends are like rumors, only aged like a fine wine. Unlike the rumors that surrounded our daily lives, they possess the power to stay in our minds from generation to generation. Like rumors, they also often contain a kernel of truth. In order to stay in our collective minds, they need to have the power to imprint themselves within a cultural conscience. To do that, they needed to both reflect and shape society. Such tales are where our paragons and villains reside, our examples for how we should conduct ourselves; who we should and shouldn’t act like. Every society has its heroes and villains, its national paragons of what they are. Even if the idea of those heroes was very different than the truth. 

Thus this one couldn’t help but wonder what Zhilius was supposed to represent within the collective conscious of the Dromaed. What kept the Quinametzin so ingrained within the Dromaed psyche that the Dromaed still spoke of them thousands of years after their fall? Why did the greenseers insist on using this place as a testing ground for their hristak?

As for Zhilius itself, it was a city long forgotten and neglected. Trees and vines had long ago overgrown over every structure within sight. Still, the great stone pyramids loomed over us, their structures casting us in shadow as we walked through what remained of the streets that thousands must have traversed so long ago. It spoke of a long-forgotten magnificence, of a society that once dominated all it observed but was now little more than a whisper.

This one wasn’t sure how to feel about what it saw. Part of this one was disappointed; its imagination had conjured up images of something truly magnificent and indomitable pyramids, streets paved with gold, and objects of near immeasurable value. Deep down this one knew such sentiments were silly and such illusions were utterly dissolved in face of the ruin and deterioration that surrounded it in reality. But still, especially after all the danger this one had gone through to get here, this one had wanted something greater than just a macrocosm of the lesser ruins we had walked past on our journey here. Instead it seemed as though it was but a matter of time until the jungle reclaimed these desolate remains of a once great civilization. So this one concentrated in looking for dangers, and any sign of Ephemera and the Dromaed. 

The Do-mare on the other hoof seemed much more pleased with our arrival in Zihlius. She tried to keep herself in check, keeping an eye on her surroundings and being careful not to damage anything, but her big smile and gleeful gawking betrayed her excitement. 

“Happy to finally be here?” this one prompted. 

“Well yeah, it's an unexplored ancient Dromead city!” The Do-mare’s gaze swept over the skyline of the city, her wonder at the sight palatable. “Chances are nopony’s been here in millennia. Who knows what we’ll learn if we get enough time to look around?!”

“It's certainly something,” this one agreed. “To think, they've stood for this long. There's definitely preservation magic holding this place together.”  In fact, this one had felt the preservation magic over the place immediately upon coming here, but it wouldn’t do to let her know the extent of this one’s magical talents.

“Yeah, though the quality of the construction counts for a lot too.” She flittered over to a nearby structure, a squat, small building that might have been a small business or home long ago. She pushed aside some of the vines to examine the stone underneath.

“Right, they made it to last.” This one’s eyes flicked to a structure that hadn’t survived the elements and ravages of time so well it was nothing more than a pile of stone. “Even if I doubt they intended it to end up like this. But then, what empire does?”

“No empire ever thinks it might fall.”

This one glanced back to the Alya-mare and the Idea-stallion to see that they were busy talking with one another as they took in the sights. Capital had a camera out and was taking pictures of the ruins. “Oh, they think about it, I’m sure. Every empire is usually just the inheritor of another empire’s legacy and sees the ruins of their forebears. It’s among the reasons why they work so hard to build up their empires and make sure they stand, not to mention build monuments to their greatness.” This one nodded to a half-crumbled statue of what looked like a Dromaed warrior or shaman. “Immortality is perhaps the most precious commodity in the world.”

The Do-mare stopped what she was doing to examine the statue. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point. I can point out several old works of literature where someone laments how their empire is getting worse with every generation and how their fall is inevitable.” She shot this one a grin. “Usually complaining about how stupid the kids dress, the awful music they listen to, and how provocative their dancing is.”

This one chuckled. “I’ve read much the same. Funny how much stays the same despite all that changes.”

“Something like that.” The Do-mare leaned down to examine the head that had fallen off the statue, now cracked in half and nearly covered in moss. “People are people at the end of the day, and on some level we don’t change that much.”

This one watched her as she worked, curious to see how exactly she went about her job now that we had actually gotten to our destination. “So is this how it normally works for you? You come running up to some long-forgotten ruin and start poking around?”

“It's kind of how archeology goes, yeah.” She slowly circled the statue, examining its base as she did so. “Though a lot of it is pretty slow. You don’t want to damage the artifacts you’re trying to collect, after all.”

“When you aren’t leaping through centuries-old traps to grab something particularly shiny that is,” this one said with the intention of provoking her a bit. “From what little Ephemera told me, you competed quite fiercely for some noteworthy finds.”

The Do-mare smirked at this one. “That can be part of it, yeah. Though that type of stuff is supposed to be the exception to the rule. Most of the time when I’m trying to snatch an artifact that way I’m playing keep away from someone like Ephemera because they just want to sell it on the black market, or because it’s some dangerous magical item that could be misused in the wrong hooves. What I really want to do is preserve historical artifacts for the future so that generations can learn from them.”

“A pity the Dromaed don't seem to agree with your methods,” this one observed. “I couldn’t help but notice that they didn’t want you poking around in Zihlius, or anywhere else for that matter.”

The mention of the conversation with the Greenseer immediately darkened the Do-mare’s mood. “Yeah, guess they're kinda close-minded.”

“It could be argued that these artifacts do belong to them,” this one said as a Discord's advocate. “They’re a part of their legacy, so they have the right to decide what should be done with them.”

The Do-mare snorted and jabbed a hoof at the delabodated statue. “Then they should care more about their history. Look at this! Everything is rotting away.”

Sensing that this one was getting to the heart of the Do-mare, this one pressed on. “Alternatively, they could have a different take on how they want to preserve their history. Not everyone thinks or acts like Equestrians. The Dromaed quite simply don’t have our concepts of the traditional museum to preserve artifacts and history. I’m sure they would argue that they don’t even have a need of such things.”

“Just because someone has a different way of thinking doesn’t mean they’re right.” The Do-mare stomped to a nearby building absolutely covered in vegetation, the stone underneath only barely visible. “And it's not just that. Do you know how fast roots and vines grow in a rainforest?”

“Very.” This one had lived long enough in a tropical region to know how quickly some plants could grow if unimpeded. 

“And how much damage they can do to a building when there's no cleanup and maintenance?” She gestured at the building that had collapsed in on itself.

“Significant,” this one conceded. “Between the rain, humidity, and vegetation, buildings can be pretty quickly destroyed.”

“You don't know the half of it. Here, help me with this.” The Do-mare pulled out a machete and started hacking away at a patch of vines blocking a doorway. This one pulled out its dagger and helped her until we managed to cut our way inside afterwith a few minutes’ work. Within was a large chamber, barren except for the moss, vines, and other vegetation that had managed to worm its way in.

The Do-mare growled as she shook her head. “Look at this. What condition do you think any artifacts in here are going to be in?”

If there were any artifacts within the room, they were long lost underneath layers of flora and stones. “Anything not long-lasting will be long gone, I suspect.”

The Do-mare whirled to face this one. “Exactly! They're literally letting their history rot away, all the while saying it's the noble and enlightened thing to do! It's historical vandalism by neglect! Yes, maybe they have their stories of what happened in the past that they pass down through the generations, but that’s not the same as having actual items from the past. And once an artifact is gone, it’s gone. There’s no replacing it.” She sighed and her wings drooped. “Ignorance and apathy destroy a lot more history than malice.”

She made a good point. This one didn’t see much a point in just letting objects lie on the ground to rot, though it knew it was biased. It was highly unlikely the Dromaed would ever see things the Do-mare’s way, whatever her argument. They were determined to see that things remained the way they were, and that was that. They were an insular and isolated people that had no intention of changing their ways, that much this one was certain of, and there was little use in negotiating with them. Now whether that made it right for the Do-mare to steal away artifacts that were doomed for destruction by neglect was the sticking point of the argument, and ultimately came down to one’s personal opinions on such things. 

But there was an issue that concerned this one more than the philosophical ethics of archeology. “You make a good argument, though there is the question of if they were right about this place being evil. That is a pretty important part of the discussion if we’re dealing with some kind of forbidden magic.”

The Do-mare snorted. “If I had a bit for every old ruin I've been to that's supposed to be an accursed place of ancient evil, I'd be richer than Capital. Just because the locals say there’s something dangerous with the local ruins doesn’t mean there is, or that they even have it right on why it’s dangerous.”

This one grinned. “So I take it that you're not intimidated by Zihlius?”

The Do-made started digging around, making sure the ravages of time and the environment had indeed destroyed anything of value. “Honestly, at this point it'd be more shocking if I ran into an ancient ruin that wasn't cursed, haunted, or full of death traps.”

“That would certainly be my luck,” this one said. “The Ephemera certainly seemed convinced something was here.”

“Only one way to find out.” Finding nothing in this building, the Do-mare led the way out. 

“So where to—“ This one was interrupted when its stomach loudly growled. Clearing this one’s throat, it smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

The Do-made grinned and nudged this one in the ribs with an elbow. “You gonna need a meal there before we continue?” She gave this one a second glance, noting this one’s slim body—slimmer than it had been before we had set out from Port Nowhere. “You’re starting to look like skin and bones. Rationing’s important, but there’s no point saving for later if you fall over from starvation right now.”

This one waved the suggestion off. “I’ll snack on something along the way to wherever we’re going. No sense delaying everything just because I’m a little hungry.”

The Do-mare shrugged. “If you say so.” 

In truth, the matter was far more concerning than this one was letting on. This one was suffering from a hunger that no mere trail rations could sate. The journey to the City of Giants had not been kind to this one’s reserves of love magic. This one’s jar of thymoplasm had run out the other day, and it had been some time since this one had last fed on the Ephemera-mare’s minions. This one was getting hungry. Distressingly so. More than once over the past day this one had caught itself staring at its companions, sensing the love within them. Each of them had people they loved, and there were the growing bonds between them as we traveled together. Perhaps if this one could draw one of them away for a few minutes to—

This one firmly clamped down on those thoughts before they strayed into actions. This one had learned how to deal with its hunger, even when it was severely short on food. But an iron will and training only went so far. This one had effectively been keeping itself on half rations for weeks now, and bit by bit the hunger had gnawed at this one’s self-control. At the end of the day, no amount of self-control or discipline could stave off becoming feral sooner or later. This one needed to eat, and soon.

In truth, this one had hoped we would run across one of the Ephemera-mare’s thugs by now. If this one could just get five minutes alone with one of them, or even two...

This one reminded itself not to drool over the thought. If we didn’t come across a convenient meal within the day, then this one might be forced to reveal its nature and ask to be allowed to feed itself before it did something beyond its control. That wasn’t something this one particularly wanted to do. There was a long string of unfortunate incidents in the past when a changeling had revealed their nature to a non-changeling. 

Not knowing this one’s distress, the Do-mare looked around before her eyes settled on the biggest pyramid that sat in the city. “Well, the biggest, most intact-looking building is that way. Any objection to heading there next?”

She flashed this one a grin and this one returned it. “That does seem like the most obvious place Ephemera would go. So let’s find out if she’s already there and get the drop on her, or prepare an ambush.”

“And see if there are any valuable artifacts inside,” the Do-made added.

This one chuckled. “No reason we can’t multitask.”







The central pyramid of Zhilius was a massive construction that stabbed up through the heart of the city like a well-worn dagger. Time and the elements had taken their toll on its blackened stone. Rain had worn down the features of its statues, vines crept up its sides, and birds and bugs infested its crevices, but still it whispered the promises of the power of a foregone age. This had been the center of a millenia-dead civilization, and it still stood, even if only as a gravestone for the Quinametzin Empire.

We headed through the half-open doors of the pyramid, their features long since eroded by time and use, claw marks all along the gate. Inside was near perfect darkness, and the corners of the entrance hall seemed to drink in the light that seeped in from outside. Only the dim glow from the odd patch of fluorescent fungus offered any kind of light within. The Do-mare flew past this one as she activated her light gem, its light only seeming to emphasize the darkness that somehow felt like it was reaching out for it. Once illuminated, the entrance hall was every bit as impressive as the outside of the structure—if almost every bit as worn. The chamber was almost deceptively large, big enough to fit a small hamlet within. Large statues of various figures ranging from Dromaed warriors, scholars, spellcasters, and artisans lined the hall, flanking hallways that lead further into black hallways. They stared down at any who entered with seeming disapproval at those who would dare interrupt their masters from within its halls. 

The Do-mare pulled out a notebook and started jotting down notes as she hovered around a statue. “Capital, can you get some pictures?”

“Of course.” The Idea-stallion smiled helpfully as he pulled out his camera and started snapping pictures, the flashes of light briefly illuminating sections of the chamber. “Thankfully I was able to find room to bring this, even if I only have so much film to work with.”

“We’ll make it work.” The Do-mare jotted down some more notes. “Just pace yourself and make sure to take really good shots of what you can. We’ve got this whole place to explore.”

This one started activated its own light gem and walked around the chamber, keeping a wary eye out for any dangers. Between the Ephemera-mare, the hristak, traps, and a dozen other threats, there was more than enough dangers to think about. Still, this one couldn’t help but let its eyes wander to the stories-tall statues that loomed over us, and it stopped under the giant figure of a grim-faced armored warrior, his grip tight on a spear as he looked ready to spring into violence at any moment. It made this one feel small and insignificant—which was probably the point of their construction.

The Do-mare whistled. “The scale really is amazing.”

“It must have taken forever to build all of this.” Despite the immensity of our discovery, the Alya-mare still pulled out her own notebook, consulted it, and then started harvesting some mushrooms from the wall.

“Time or lots of labor,” this one observed. “The Quinametzin were supposed to be into slavery, after all.” It might have been the Free Mind in this one, but the idea of thousand of slaves being made to toil away to make something like this for their masters soured the discovery. 

“Not just normal labor.” The Do-mare flittered down to tap at a portion of one of the statue’s legs. “Look, there's no obvious lines where different pieces of rock were put together. It's like the whole statue was carved out of a single solid block!”

The Idea-stallion whistled. “My word! A block of stone that large would have to weigh...” He pulled out some paper and quickly scribbled his calculations. “Almost fifty tons!”

The Do-mare nodded. “Even the biggest blocks in the southern pyramids of Old Selerika are only a fraction of that size.”

This one raised as eyebrow as it carefully studied the statue. Indeed, there weren’t any of the usual lines indicating different blocks of stone being sealed together. That was highly unusual for a couple different reasons; first and foremost was the simple fact that the larger a stone was the heavier it would be, and thus harder and more expensive to move from whatever quarry it came from. Second was that it could be difficult to find consistent blocks of the same type of stone large enough for even a modestly sized statue, much less these monstrous things.

“Perhaps they used magic?” this one suggested. “Geomancy could have melded the stones together to appear seamless.”

“That’d explain it.” The Do-mare returned to circling the statues. “Even if it’s a bit soon to say for certain. That’s going to require more study. Pity we couldn’t bring the whole team here like we’d planned, this is such an amazing find!”

This one flew up to hover by her side. “It certainly seems that way.” This one frowned at where one statue’s arm had fallen off and smashed on the ground. “Even if this place has seen better days.”

“Yeah.” The Do-mare scowled. “We need to get some proper archeologists out here and preserve everything before the neglect gets any worse.”

“Easier said than done,” this one pointed out. “I doubt the Dromaed will have changed their opinions since we last saw them, and getting a full expedition of archeologists here would be a challenge even if they weren’t a barrier.”

“We'll find a way. I can't believe those lizard-birds are letting something this amazing just rot away. This is their history, their legacy! Sooner or later it’s all going to be gone because they didn’t do anything to preserve it!”

The Idea-stallion took another picture. “Let's not worry about the far future until we're done and on our way back to civilization. I think we’re going to need to rethink our approach with the Dromaed, but I’d prefer to do that from the safety of my family’s study.”

“Not much we can do about that here anyways.” The Do-mare reached out to clean off some of the fluorescent mold from the statue, but this one caught her hoof.

“Better be careful about touching that,” this one warned, remembering its encounters with the mold spirit back in the pyramid near Port Nowhere.

The Do-mare frowned at this one as it held her hoof back. “It's just mold, it's harmless.”

“You've never been attacked by sapient mold before,” this one insisted. “Back at Port Nowhere I saw a bunch of this stuff form into some sort of monster that attacked me. I barely got away from it with my life.”

The Do-mare stared at this one as she digested that story. “Is that seriously a thing that can happen? You better not be making stuff up, because this isn’t really the time for it.”

“I assure you, I've seen it,” this one insisted. “It might even be tied up with the Greenseer’s magic. The mold monster was protecting the compass I managed to get, and I’d rather not have to deal with one of those things again.”

“I've been all over the world and never seen it.” Still, she pulled her hoof away from the mold and this one let her go. “But even if you are just making that story up, it could be dangerous in other ways.”

The Alya-mare nodded up in our direction. “Better safe than sorry. The last thing we want is for someone to get sick from tropical mold spores.”

“We have more than enough trouble to deal with without borrowing more.” This one glanced around, still not detecting the presence of anyone else. “Speaking of trouble, I'm not seeing any sign of Ephemera or her lot yet.”

“Doesn't mean they aren't here.” The Do-mare snapped her notebook closed and returned it to her bags. “But if she’s already here, she'll be covering her tracks.”

“You honestly think she can be that subtle?” This one’s impressions of the Ephemera-mare were that she possessed all the subtlety of a brick. If a problem was to be solved, then it was to be done in the most direct method available.

“She's brutal, but she has the kind of low cunning you’d expect from a chronic backstabber,” the Do-mare said. “Don’t get overconfident around her. You’ll be thinking she’s an idiot, and then she’ll surprise you with something nasty when you least expect it.”

This one hadn’t lived as long as it had by being sloppy. Even if the Ephemera-mare wasn’t the most dangerous opponent this one had ever faced, she still had us badly outnumbered, and her mystery employer might have yet more nasty tricks to throw our way. No, best to be cautious for now until we had a proper handle on the situation. Though the knot of hunger in this one’s stomach also reminded this one of the potential rewards of finding the Ephemera-mare or her minions. 

“So where to next?” The Alya-mare glanced around to the pitch black hallways. “I doubt we want to spend all our time here looking at old statues.”

“Onwards of course.” The Idea-stallion took one last picture before putting his camera away. “We can hardly stop after coming so far.”

“Which way, though?” this one pressed.

The main hall was lined with a dozen different passages that led further into the pyramid. Most were smaller doorways, probably for servants of whoever resided within the structure, though three were larger passageways that could allow dozens of individuals to walk abreast of one another. The Do-mare flitted about the room to examine the statues and doors. Considering this was her area of expertise and she had a natural talent for navigation, this one was content to let her decide where to go.

Eventually she decided upon the central doors, flanked by a pair of statues that struck this one as crowned warrior-priests with their spears and staves held crossed over their chests. “Hm, the central one seems the best choice. When in doubt, go to the fanciest-looking place.”

“Bully!” the Idea-stallion declared as he approached the statues flanking the double stone doors. “Just when I thought it couldn't get any grander than what I'd seen before!”

This one stepped up to the doors along with everyone else. They were large and imposing, and underneath the mold were engravings of Dromaed-like figures and letters this one didn’t understand. After a quick examination an obvious problem presented itself. “It looks like the doors are sealed, or at least I’m not seeing any obvious door handle here.” This one had a feeling the doors had either been opened through the copious use of slaves or magic, neither of which we had in abundance.

“We'll open them.” Daring flew up and down as she looked for a means to open the portal. “If I had a bit for every door in an ancient crypt that looked like it could never be opened...”

“Too right.” The Idea-stallion reached for the door, but then the Do-mare suddenly slapped his hoof away.

Her eyes were wide when she screamed at us. “Don't touch it! Everyone get ten meters back and take cover!”

This one didn’t waste time asking questions. It bolted from the door, and upon seeing that the Alya-mare had froze, pushed her to get her moving. “Go! Now!” That snapped her out of shock and she ran for it. We reached one of the doorways and hid behind the door frame, and the Do-mare and the Idea-stallion had found their own door frame to take cover behind.

When nothing immediately happened this one looked to the Do-mare. “What was that about?”

“Look.” The Do-mare snatched up a rock and threw it at the door. It smacked against stone and bounced to the floor. Not a moment later a green ooze started spraying from the door, sigils along its length glowing as it did so. The ooze immediately started sizzling when it hit the ground, and an acidic smell wafted into the air. The smell was so noxious that this one was forced to pull out a handkerchief to cover its muzzle, and the floor tiles bubbled where the acid had landed.

The Idea-stallion blinked owlishly upon seeing the death he had only just narrowly avoided. “Starswirl's beard!”

“Looks like the traps here still work,” this one observed. “The Giants must have built them to last.”

“Or the Greenseers have been maintaining them,” the Alya-mare suggested.

“Don't worry,” the Do-mare assured us as she left her hiding spot and slowly approached the door. “I can crack ruins like this in my sleep. No problem.”

As though in answer to that challenge, a loud rumble came from the ceiling, along with the scrape of stone on stone as a dozen hoof-sized holes opened up. 

The Idea-stallion frowned as he stared upward and walked up next to this one. “Why do I have a sinking suspicion we've just made a right pig's ear of this?”

Bursts of bright green gas began seeping out from the holes in the ceiling. Seeing that nothing good could come of this, this one suggested the only rational course. “Run!”

The Do-mare bolted our way, her wings pumping hard. “It's heavier than air! Get out and find high ground!”

This one led the way down one of the hallways. There was no way to tell where it led, but this one liked its chances going down a random hallway than staying where that gas was going. At least had a chance to counter any new form of death trap we ran across. We passed by multiple rooms as we fled, our light sources only briefly illuminating their interiors before we passed them. Spotting a staircase, this one took a sharp turn and ran up them, the clatter of everyone else’s hooves behind it as it sought safety.

Once we had ascended the stairs this one kept running for a bit until we found ourselves in a new room. If the gas had followed us this far then there was probably no place safe we could reach in time to save our lives, and this one would prefer not to keep running until we got into some form of trouble. Besides, this room had caught this one’s eye. 

Near as this one could tell, we were in some sort of artificial garden. In the center of the room sat a crystal tree, its trunk so black it seemed to absorb the light. Our reflections danced along its irregular surfaces, and glowing orange orbs hung from its branches. Along the walls were a vast variety of crystal plants of all colors. Whether they had been grown through some arcane means, transformed into their current forms or were the mere mundane creations of some artisan, this one could only guess. Though this one noted that the fungus had not reached this room, whatever that meant. Still, the gas didn’t seem to be coming this far, which was something.

A soft song, deep and melodious with its use of wind instruments and drums, echoed from the halls further into the pyramid. It contrasted the sterile beauty of the crystal garden, but still, this one felt relaxed for the first time since coming to the forsaken city.

The Alya-mare let out a long relieved sigh as she slumped down onto one of the benches lining the room. “Please tell me we’re safe.”

The Do-mare hovered about the room, examining everything with a keen eye for danger and archeological reasons both. “Safe for now by the looks of it. Though don’t get too settled. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “But it might not hurt to just rest a bit.”

“We have come a ways.” The Idea-stallion agreed, sitting next to the Alya-mare. “After all that excitement I could stand to close my eyes for a few minutes.”

“Alright we can—” A yawn cut the Do-mare off. “Sorry, we can take five and then work from there.”

The mention of rest did suddenly feel like a good idea. After all the danger we’d just gotten through, and the soft music making this place seem so relaxing...

This one blinked as it realized something was wrong. This was hardly the time to be nodding off, and yet this one found itself sitting and struggling to not lie down despite itself. This one slapped itself to try and stay awake. Through heavy eyelids this one saw that everyone was already asleep around it, the song continuing to play, pressing against this one with its melody. This one tried to stand, to get away, but its limbs were heavy and didn’t cooperate, feeling as though this one were trying to move through molasses. This one was just so tired, its fight against its own hunger having gone on so long, and this one’s will worn down from so many failures and the dangers of the jungle.

This one’s eyes closed and it drifted off to sleep.