Walking was drudgery.

The air slapped me with damp heat, which seeped through to marrow. Breathing was difficult; the air was viscous, heavy and claustrophobic. Fractal sunlight swam through the thick canopy dozens of meters above. There were sounds from all sides; jungle life, I reasoned.

I came to a clearing and saw a man: a native. He stared at me with a mixture of curiosity, fear and awe. I had walked about fifty meters and was nearly done-in.

He dropped his javelin, pointed at me and said “Hkzzt-t-t kumar, bonk!” looked at the sky, said “fioir kapuet regdt,” twirled his hand above his head and spat out: “Spthhht!”

And he was right.

Years would pass before it flew again…