The vegetation was too thick to penetrate so they trudged up a cut left by an eon of monsoonal rains. Joe pushed aside a clump of bamboo overhanging their path and his hand erupted in pain. He peered at the bamboo and saw that it was covered in white hairs. On closer inspection, the hairs turned out to be fine needles that undoubtedly carried poison. He swore and held his hand at the wrist, squeezing it. He slid backwards. The ground was unstable, black mud and they both stumbled as they struggled against the sucking at their feet. Their legs and arms were black, and their faces were streaked with mud from their attempts to wipe away the stinging sweat that constantly dribbled into their eyes. Their lungs were dry and their breathing hoarse with the effort of keeping muscles supplied with oxygen. Suryei rasped with every painful step. One step forward, half a step back as their feet lost purchase. They paused halfway up the ravine to catch their breath and give their legs a rest, chests heaving.
