Gusts of wind struck the canopy. Trees lashed their limbs together, and leaves ripped each other. Between the trees the wind howled.

  A vortex of wind battled Scott’s hair. He could not sleep through the racket, and he at last sat up and scooted until his back was to the ukim tree. He was famished, and he bit into one of the purpletruses he’d kept in his pockets. Finally, a decent breakfast.

  With only five left in his inventory, Scott swung from branch to branch down to the jungle floor. He slashed the bark of the ukim tree, and the wound began to bleed brown resin. In an empty glass potion bottle, he collected enough to fill it nearly to the top by the time the trickle of resin began to slow. He lathered the sticky resin at the tips of his fingers and applied the gum to his still healing wounds.

  The infernal itching which had been nagging Scott softened. His skin felt numb where he’d been able to apply the salve. Blisters at his heels suddenly felt completely healed. Shedding the small torture of his wounds, Scott stretched and breathed deeply.

  He headed northeast through the jungle at a run which matched his prior sprinting speed. Every single plant he zoomed by, their names came up in his mind. Identifying them was as easy as recognizing letters of an alphabet.

  There were tough choices for Scott to make. Stopping to harvest ingredients would cost him time; however, ignoring the opportunity to harvest particular ingredients cost him fortification potions. His inventory was already full, and his pockets weren’t worth much.

  Where the land was divided by a branch of the Opra River, he was forced to stop. The bank was lush with pippidills, which could be used in fortification potions.

  “Might as well,” said Scott, and he planted his knees beside the flowers. He pulled them from the wet and sandy soil, and they came up with small onion-white bulbs. A few broke off at the base, and he threw the stalks aside. He gathered forty pippidills, which were each one-fourth of the required ingredients to make body fortification potions.

  At the purple river, Scott filled his remaining three potion bottles. He drank his fill, and he waded across until the river deepened. Through the purple he saw the rocky depth. He knew there had to be monsters in the water. There had been monsters in the waters on earth during the cataclysm. If he swam, it would take him a full minute to cross. There had to be monsters worse than crocodiles. Should he even cross? And how? Swim?

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  The glossy purple water of the Opra River flowed rapidly. A huge skeletal tree lay half submerged, and great boulders resisted the currents. White reflections of the sun bounced into Scott’s eyes, and he blocked the glares with his hand.

  Where the water was clear and free of glare, where it was deep and calm, two mud-red eyes watched him. Scott froze, and he stared right back at the unblinking eyes. They each seemed as large as his head, and he could not make out the brow between them, much less the rest of the body. It seemed as if the eyes were disembodied.

  “Fucking hell,” Scott uttered.

  He backed away, and the eyes and a great long body followed him up to the edge of the shallow bed he waded. Nostrils breached. Scott waded back, and he gasped, for the nostrils were as long and large as shoes.

  “It’s a god damn vetidile!”

  He knew it prowled the depths of rivers, and even at level one it was worth twenty-one thousand experience points; and he knew he couldn’t cross the Opra River by swimming; and he knew he was no match for a level one vetidile. Part of him wanted the armored hide which fetched a high value, but the booming beat of his heart overpowered that thought. How close was death!

  Scott returned ashore, and he traveled north along the river while giving it berth. He scanned the jungle and the river bank for plants of interest. The yun fronds drew him over when he smelled their licorice-cumin aroma. Forty of their leaves, stacked together and folded, fit into Scott’s back pocket like a novel. They were the second of four ingredients he needed to brew body fortifications.

  “Weird,” said Scott as he bit into one of the spherical onets he’d pilfered from the city. He was surprised that the brown skin peeled away like the skin of a tomato, and he was especially surprised that it tasted like a dessicated, flaky onion. His own crunching was so loud that it triggered memories of him stuffing his face with pita chips.

  He finished the onet, and he tossed the butt of the vegetable into the jungle. The crunch of his last few bites softened until he swallowed, and he followed it up with fresh Opra River water from his bottle.

  Without the crunching overpowering all other sounds, he was filled with the sounds of the land. Water rushed downstream, myriad birds battled by shriek and song, monkeys screeched and crashed through trees, snake tongues spit in the air, his own boots drummed the earth.

  Scott ran until dusk. He climbed and then swung up into the boughs of a ukim tree. Cocooned in his cloak, he examined his scabs.

  The flesh around them had pinkened considerably, he remarked. Wow, how fast he was healing! The itching had nearly died away, and he attracted fewer insects since he wasn’t reopening wounds. Ah, he felt good. Good, but quite exhausted.

  But he was free. The terrors of his last year on earth were behind him, and only fresh memories haunted him. He knew there were others, and part of him felt for the ones he couldn’t free. Such a fucking shame that humans were regarded no better than wave minions.

  “A minion,” Scott muttered as he watched the stars brighten through the canopy. “Just a fucking minion. Well, you assholes are gonna have a tough time taking this minion down. I have all I need to grow powerful fast. Just gotta get to those briar pik as soon as I can.”