H'rral opens his eyes to the sounds of noise that should not be there. Dull throbbing pain arches through his body as he pushes himself to his feet with deliberate concetration.

H'rral looks around, trying to get his bearings. A flash of blue brings back the memory of that wizard, something bright, then this. "Where am I?"

"GRUMPH!" – Some beast bellow-grunts beyond a cluster of trees. Closer by, a brightly-colored red-and-blue-and-green bird trill-calls, then squawks at H'rral's presence and flutters away.

The shafts of light filtering through the canopy briefly dim, then brighten again, as scattered clouds drift by overhead.

H'rral's tail twitches and he mutters wryly, "Nevermind… Now I want to know where I'm going to be." Moving slow, he pushes his way into the thick, keeping watch with eyes, ears, and nose.

Beads of water collected on the thick, broad leaves spill as the jaguar presses past, dampening his clothes and fur.

In the next "clearing", to normal eyes it would be nearly impossible to see in the dark … but his eyes catch areas of warmth and coolness … and something hot that seems to be struggling around amidst the foliage, at the base of a large bush.

H'rral shakes the water off with a little twist. As he moves, the fog slowing his movements and his mind clears a little. He moves carefully into the next clearing, keeping watch for tanglevines and predators as he advances on the bush.

"GRUMPH!" The bellow-grunt is louder here, as the beast – tall at the shoulder as H'rral's gut – digs huge tusks into the dirt, sending clods flying.

H'rral stops. "Wonderful." With practiced ease, the jaguar freezes in place.

The boar-like beast unearths a giant … truffle? The thing is pumpkin-sized!

Several bird calls echo through the foliage. They sound similar to those H'rral has heard before, but … somehow different. The boar pays attention as well. It looks up, grumphing several more times.

H'rral watches the thing dig, suddenly realizing that a little food wouldn't hurt any. At the sound of the birdcalls, he watches the boar, trying to gauge the animal's reaction.

The boar scuffles in the dirt, turning its sizeable hind-end to the truffle, and looking this way and that, though there is little light to see by that filters into this tangle of vegetation.

H'rral turns his head slowly, trying to pick out any more heat sources.

Tiny heat sources can be seen all over – birds, little lizards … little rodents … the jungle, after all, is alive. But beyond … there are larger forms moving. By their shapes … humanoid?

There is a low moaning sound from the direction of the forms that H'rral could pick up. It builds in intensity quickly, to sound like a horrid, keening roar, that is picked up by similar calls from elsewhere.

H'rral narrows his eyes. He turns and darts for a tree, scrambling up into the leafy embrace with catlike ease. (imagine that)

The boar-thing backs up against the oversized truffle, grumphing some more, then squealing. It glances about, torn between fear and its desire to keep its unearthed prize.

H'rral breaks off a small branch and throws it at the beast's rump.

The beast SQUEEEEEEEEs loudly, and dashes into the underbrush!

Immediately, the humanoids dash forward, some passing into the clearing, in hot pursuit of the boar. By their look … they are tailed digitigrades … and feline.

H'rral freezes in the branches again. He's just an overthick branch is all… worry about that beast, not me.

More "SQUEEEEs" in the underbrush. The roaring-moaning drops off, but picks up again elsewhere. It would seem the humanoids have spread out a bit in pursuit of the boar.

H'rral drops out of the tree and starts off in the other direction. He spares only a moment to wonder why he is light, like he has not eaten in days, but is not hungry.

The boar bellows and charges through the clearing, past H'rral's previous hiding place. The humanoids come charging after, scrambling through the darkness.

By the way one of them ran into a tree branch, it would seem that they do not share H'rral's ability of seeing in darkness.

H'rral drops into a crouch at the edge of the clearing, acting like a rock. He tries not to look mad at the tusker for bringing those felines back to find him.

As the chase breaks out into slightly better lighting, H'rral can use his normal vision to get a better look at the fray. The creature being pursued indeed looks like a very sizeable boar, though oddly proportioned, with tusks of enormous size to the point of looking absurd, and with a tufted tail. It dashes about, alternately fleeing, alternately charging back at its pursuers.

H'rral very, very slowly backs into the brush, where it is safely dark.

The pursuers are furred digitigrade feline humanoids, their fur splotched with wild colors, and sporting ornamentations of bone, shell, beads and leathers. With all the dye and paint, it is hard to discern their true markings, but black spots show through nonetheless.

Spears thrust at the boar, but it is surprisingly nimble for its size, making ample use of the intervening foliage. It finds an opening, and charges back into the conveniently dark tangle once more.

H'rral jumps up and grabs a low-lying treelimb. With a lithe motion, he pulls himself up into the trees, and the safety of the High Road.

The boar crashes through the spot where H'rral stood just a moment before. The hunters come dashing after, spears ready. No calls or cries do they make, but one stands a bit behind, swinging some device – it looks like a horn – around over his head, by a cord.

H'rral narrows his eyes, thinking that horn must the source of the strange keening noise.

The jaguar's suspicion proves true. As the horn builds up momentum, the moan builds to a loud roar. It is answered by several others. The boar's running tends to edge away from the sources of the noises … though not quite so predictably.

The boar suddenly charges out of the undergrowth, bearing straight for the horn-swinger! The cat, much smaller than the spear-bearers, drops the horn, and freezes in fear at the charging beast!

H'rral resists the temptation to quiet that noise. He is preparing to leap to a new tree branch when the tusker charges from the brush. Without really giving it time for thought, H'rral changes his leap and swings from the branch, aiming with his feet for the beast's side.

The beast provides a nice large target. It squeals as the jaguar hits it, and twists and thrashes about wildly with its tusks.

The smaller cat gasps at the sudden appearance of the large jaguar, and at last snaps out of the momentary catatonia to scramble up a tree trunk.

H'rral lets the boar's side provide him with a nice stable platform to bounce away from. Typically, however, it does not work quite as planned. H'rral rolls away from the beast, sporting a bloody gash on his right leg.

The boar squeals and bellows, tasting blood that runs down its tusks. Its eyes burn ferally, as it turns toward H'rral, digging into the dirt with its hooves, and lowering its head to charge.

H'rral rolls to his feet, obviously favoring his left leg. He stands almost perfectly still in front of the boar, a tree to his back. "Come on… come on."

The boar backs up a bit, grumphing, shaking its head, then pointing its tusks forward. With a squeal-roar, it starts running forward – thumpa-thumpa-thumpa!

Faster it comes! Thumpathumpathumpa!

H'rral waits until the last second to leap to the right, pushing off with his good left leg and aiming for a nice, soft patch of bushes.

The boar squees, and begins to turn, but – too late! Its nice big tusks fit nicely around the thinner-trunked tree. With a crack and an impact that shakes the tree and sends birds and winged lizards squawking and flapping away, the boar wedges itself, nose planted against the bark.

"SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!" the thing screams, flailing its hooves vainly. Its eyes burn with fierce anger, one flicking toward H'rral, staring daggers at him.

H'rral pulls himself to his feet and looks around, suddenly aware of all the noise he has been making. With effort, he leaps and grabs another tree limb, muttering at the boar, "Shut up. I didn't put that tree there."

The little cat picks up its stick again, and dashes up, whacking the boar again and again on the head. The exercise seems to do little more than to make the angry and scared beast even more angry and scared.

H'rral shakes his head, "Kid, I hope your friends are close."

There is more rustling in the bushes, announcing the arrival of the hunters, who appear to have finally figured out which way the boar turned.

H'rral takes off his vest and wraps the whole thing around the gash in his leg, quietly hissing at a sudden stab of pain.

The cat halts, dropping the stick, looking at H'rral in unconcealed awe!

The hunters charge into the clearing. Some immediately see the boar, and reflexively let their spears fly! The cat hasn't even time to react before, before his startled eyes, the boar suddenly sprouts three brightly-colored spears, all of which strike true.

The boar's hindquarters quiver for a moment, and then suddenly relax, as the boar slumps lifelessly.

H'rral ties the vest around his leg with some of the longer fringes and and stands again, using the noise of the hunters' arrival to pull himself to a higher set of branches.

The cat stands proudly beside the boar, thumping his (or her?) chest, pointing to it, then making a rapid series of complex hand gestures.

H'rral mutters to himself, "stupid. could have been killed. Then where would you be."

H'rral answers himself wryly, "Still in the dark and lost, probably."

A couple of the hunters rush in to tend to the dead boar, while one of the larger ones stops, making similar hand-signals to the younger cat. It would seem some sort of silent conversation is taking place, as they exchange gestures, and then the cat points to where H'rral was standing … and looks surprised to see no one there anymore. A look of "honest! it's true!" covers the cat's face, followed by even more frantic gestures, followed by putting a hand up to its mouth and flapping it like a duck-bill.

The larger cat gives the would-be hunter a dubious expression, and scans the trees warily. A couple more of the horn-swingers pad into the clearing, watching the others struggle to un-wedge the boar from the tree. It managed to stick itself there rather firmly!

H'rral watches the youth try to explain this from his high perch. Only his eyes move as he looks down on the scene below.

The large hunter walks up to the space where H'rral had stood. He reaches to the branch, then brings his hand back, sniffing. His ears flick.

H'rral's lips narrow as he presses his mouth shut. Once again he resolves to stop talking to himself… someday.

The hunter looks up to the trees, toward H'rral … and starts waving his hand in something resembling a "come down" motion. But … can he really see H'rral? And that spear he's holding in the other hand doesn't look all that friendly…

H'rral does not move. He's a big pile of leaves. Really!

The hunter stops waving, looking disappointed. In the dim light, even a spotted, golden-furred feline could pass for … a clump of leaves. He returns his attention to the removal of the boar, though he still glances about warily.

The little feline kid has a pleading expression, and makes more hand signs to the hunter, but is replied with a hand wave and a stern expression that seems to say, "and that's the end of it… "

H'rral lets out a sigh of relief and leans back against the tree.

The jaguar's sigh apparently goes unheard by the hunters, who noisily extract the boar at last, and heft it up, to haul it out, the three horn-swinger kits bouncing behind, evidently excited by their success in the hunt.

H'rral waits until the clearing empties and then starts the painful process of lowering himself down to the lower limbs of the tree.

The jungle is much quieter now, but at last the chirruping and trilling begins to return, as the hunters – and the boar – have left. Aside from some blood on the ground and some torn-up vegetation, there is little sign that anything had occurred here at all.

H'rral climbs down to the lowest limbs of the tree. As he puts his weight on his right leg, the blood-slicked foot slips and H'rral comes out of the tree with a heavy thud.

H'rral shakes his head to clear the stars out of his eyes, "ow… why did you have to go and do that?"

H'rral pulls his feet back and stands up, listening to see if the hunters are coming back.

There is a buzzing sound that assaults H'rral's ears, as several small insects begin clouding around him – and around the spots of blood.

H'rral's eyes widen, then narrow in reflex as one of the bugs tries to land there. "Aahh! Ack!" With that thought, the feline runs at his best speed (which is not particularly fast right now) away from the nest he has disturbed.

The flies begin collecting on the spots of blood on the ground and plants until they form a thick, writhing mat. Judging from the amount puzzing around the jaguar, it would seem that they have in mind to do the same to him, except that every movement of his tends to drive them away.

The jaguar, blinded by the cloud of ghoulish flies, crashes through the underbrush, stumbling into a lighter area.

The flies do their best to cram into every possible cavity, buzzing all the while.

H'rral windmills his arms around wildly, trying to see. For once, he manages to keep his mouth shut.

Every time H'rral so much as cracks his eyelids, the bugs go for the opening. Ow!

Suddenly, H'rral bumps into something that gives slightly … and he can feel himself being grappled by many arms!

H'rral freezes, then starts to struggle, trying to break free. He cries out reflexively, "Let me GO!"

As he does so, more bugs swarm into his mouth. *CRUNCH* They don't taste all that good.

The jaguar feels himself being lifted and borne and bounced along … then quickly lowered … *SPLOOSH!* … into water!

Many hands wipe at the jaguar's face and ears, scraping away the drowned bugs.

H'rral spits out the foul taste and opens his eyes, glancing about.

Around H'rral is the crowd of hunters. It would seem that he happened upon them during his flight from the bugs. One of them is hastily wrapping some cloth around his bloodied leg – perhaps not so much as to truly bandage it as to keep those bugs out.

The expressions on the faces of the hunters appear to be various degrees of awe – perhaps odd, considering their dunking of him like that, but it's there all the same.

The cub that H'rral saw first pads up, looking to the others with an "I told you so!" expression, and making that "duck bill" motion at his mouth again, then pointing at H'rral. The others don't seem to notice him – much to the cub's consternation.

H'rral keeps his mouth shut and watches. When the medic is done, the jaguar picks up his vest and pulls it on, ignoring the drying stains of blood on the wet fabric. He looks down at the cub, "Yeah… I can talk."

The felines all gasp and back away a couple of steps. Many start flashing hand signs toward H'rral all at once, too quick to follow even if he could make any sense out of them.

H'rral runs his hands through his headfur to squeeze some of the water out. He holds up both of his paws, fingers pointing to the sky and palms toward the hunters, "Now wait a second. I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

H'rral watches the hunters and purses his lips, "And somehow I don't think you understand me, either."

As H'rral gestures to the sky, some of the hunters repeat his motion, then look to the others, exchanging gestures. A couple throw themselves to the ground, genuflecting before the jaguar.

The felines get up again, and the jaguar soon finds himself being urged along with the group.

H'rral stops and blinks a few times, letting his arms drop to his side. "You have Got to be kidding me."

H'rral lets himself get pushed along, "Hey… watch it. I can't go that fast!"

The felines seem unable to understand his words, but his pain is evidence enough. Two felines heft the jaguar's arms about their shoulders, and help him along, while the others bear the oversized boar.

H'rral hobbles along with the group. A little shudder runs through him as he realizes just how much trouble he has been in in the last few minutes.

The journey takes some time, though the felines appear to be quite adept at navigating the tangles of the jungle, and evidently know their way well. Eventually, another clearing opens up ahead, though still sheltered by the canopy of the leaves. It would seem that here is the village – huts ringing around a central firepit, built into the bases of trees, and there are some rope ladders leading up to platforms amongst the branches as well.

H'rral looks around the closed in village and shakes his head with a little bit of wonderment, "Just how deep in this jungle are we?"

The kits quickly put aside their horn-sticks as soon as they are within the perimeter, and bounce in, rapidly making hand-signs to anyone who gives them so much as a glance. The other felines here do not share the colorations of the hunters – they are all evidently golden-furred, black-spotted felines, with cheetah-like tearmarks. And, as H'rral asks his question, all react the same – with awe and surprise. The catch of the day seems to pale in comparison to the big jaguar.

H'rral resolves, for what must be the fiftieth time, to keep his mouth shut.

The jaguar is ushered along by over-eager cheetahs toward the central region, where it would appear that dinner is already being cooked and served – another boar (though not as large) is roasting on a spit, having been cleaned and deprived of its tusks.

The large hunter slaps away some of the cheetahs, gesturing to the jaguar's leg, and making a series of hand-signs. He points toward one of the huts, which is more heavily decorated than the rest, with wooden masks and hanging leather pouches on cords outside the doorway.

H'rral watches the cheetahs as they usher him around, trying to get some sort of grasp on the sign-language they use.

Hunks of meat are practically shoved in the jaguar's face by smiling cheetahs. They do smell rather good, though perhaps cooked a bit on the rare side by some tastes.

H'rral blinks and leans his head back. He picks one of the hunks of meat at random and munches on it. "Umm… thanks."

It's pretty good, actually. It tastes like pork, though with a bit of a heady undertaste to it. Meanwhile, the hunters make very short order of the boar they caught. Where before there was a big beast, there is now a hide, a couple of tusks, and a big slab of meat being hauled over to the roasting pit.

H'rral watches the action around the village with quiet bemusement. In some ways, this could be familiar.

A couple of cheetahs hoist the jaguar over to the indicated hut, while others crowd around – trying to get a look at the jaguar or make meat offerings to him, or drape beads around his neck, or just to reach out and touch him.

H'rral looks a little embarrassed by all the attention. His ears are laid to either side and look a little pinkish.

At last the crowd backs off as H'rral is led toward the hut. He is taken inside the doorway, and lowered to sit on a mat in the center of the dirt floor. The two cheetahs then back out, leaving him. The interior is lit by two torches on long floor stands, casting flickering light which dances about the interior, which is full of decorative masks, colored feathers, odd talismans, shelves with clay containers which are ornately decorated, and implements of bone and wood.

The jaguar, however, is not alone here. A lone figure is seated, facing away from him. She rises, and turns about to face him, revealing the features of a golden-furred cheetah – like the others – with eyes of deep brown, and curly tresses of black hair which tumble down her shoulders and far down her back.

H'rral looks around the hut slowly. He looks relieved to be sitting down and away from the crowds.

H'rral looks up at the cheetah and tilts his head, "Hello."

The lady cheetah wears many necklaces of claws and pieces of wood and bone. Her ornamentation speaks of something more than merely decoration. She would be quite beautiful, though there is one disturbing feature which it takes a moment to realize … in her forehead is a single, pupilless, bloodshot eye that blinks in unison with the others.

H'rral lets his head rock forward and he blinks several times. Slowly, he pulls his legs under him and stands, suddenly no longer willing to be completely passive.

The cheetah frowns. She makes some "down" motions with her hands, and points at H'rral's bloodied leg.

H'rral debates silently with himself for a moment or two, then complies.

The cheetah kneels, dipping a cloth into a basin, and then reaches forward to examine the wound and to clean at it. The touch of the cloth stings initially as she wipes away the dead bugs, dirt and dried blood.

H'rral's breath hisses through his teeth at her initial touch, and his claws dig into the ground. "OK… that hurts."

The cheetah smiles faintly, glancing up to H'rral, then continues her work. She crumples up some leaves, rubbing them into some strips of cloth, filling the interior of the hut with a pungent, herbal aroma. She begins to apply the thin strips of cloth, wrapping them around the jaguar's wounded leg.

H'rral sniffs at the air, hoping to recognize something. "You know… ow … I really hope this is just some dream, but I don't recall them ever hurting this much before."

After this, some thicker fabric is wrapped around the bandages, and firmly affixed with some pins of bone. She finishes, and leans back, still kneeling on the floor, scrutinizing H'rral with her gaze.

H'rral keeps his foot still as he returns the cheetah's gaze, trying not to stare at that extra eye.

The cheetah only smiles in return, then at last stands, and makes a lifting-up gesture with her hands toward the jaguar.

H'rral pulls his feet under him and stands. "I wish someone could tell me what was going on."

The cheetah's ears twitch at H'rral's speech, but she smiles nonetheless, and then ushers him back out of the hut … where many eager cheetahs are awaiting him.

H'rral ambles out of the hut and back into the crowd. Suddenly, that third eye doesn't seem so bad.

Drums begin beating, rattles rattling, and beating on various percussion instruments. It would seem there is music and merry-making going on, and H'rral is at the center of attention. The three-eyed cheetah remains standing at the door to her hut, while the jaguar is ushered to what appears to be a place of honor around the central firepit, to be lavished with yet more food offerings – and certainly plenty of attention.

H'rral scratches the back of his head, more than a bit overwhelmed by all of the attention.

The three-eyed cheetah waves off a male who comes, signing something to her. She frowns, and disappears into her hut once more, leaving the male a bit perplexed, but he soon heads off to join in the night's activities … for the sun has set at some point, and light no longer filters down through the canopy. Instead, the only light is that cast by the firepit and torches, making giant shadows that dance across the overhanging tree limbs.

The jaguar is treated with food – mostly meat – and water and berry juice. Every movement of his is watched closely – and if he so much as dares to speak (or even look like he might), he draws even more attention and gasps of awe.

H'rral sniffs the air again, and looks at the trees and the ground and the cheetahs. He struggles to find something familiar in all of this, something that he can grasp onto and understand.

Try as he may, there is still something alien about this. Little can be seen through the canopy above … but it is not any night sky he remembers. In addition to the scattering of stars … there is a thicker band of sparkling lights that travels across the sky in a diamond path. If there is any moon, it cannot be seen for the enclosing trees.

So much of what is around speaks of jungle … but every little detail still seems unfamiliar: the scents, the tastes, the sounds, the appearances. Familiar, yet alien.

Food continues to be passed around. After it seems that all have had their fill, some of the remnants are carried off to a hut larger than the rest that is slightly within the "ring" formed by most of the huts. It seems more sturdily built than the rest, although it is not built into the base of a tree.

H'rral feels his heart skip a beat, and a faint edge of fear fills him. He shakes his head suddenly and turns his gaze to the fire.

The kittens gather around a cheetah who looks older than most, and he sets on a rock for a stool, and begins making gestures – slower than those used by most of the cheetahs – interspersed with periods of pantomime. Judging from the kittens' expressions and rapt attention, it would seem he is a storyteller.

H'rral turns his gaze to the storyteller, trying yet again to make some sense out of the gestures.

There are certain gestures that are repeated, that the jaguar can just slowly begin to find as familiar … but he is still a long way from understanding anything of what is being "said".

At last, some of the cheetahs start to head off to their huts. Some climb up the platforms, and appear to be setting up for the night watch. The storyteller finishes his tale just in time for the yawning kittens to be borne off by their mothers.

At last, some of the cheetahs look to H'rral again, and gesture to indicate one of the smaller huts.

H'rral rests his elbow on his knee, and his chin on that fist. He watches everyone depart with a certain detached bemusement. For now, he tries not to think about how far he must have been sent.

At the cheetah's gesture, H'rral stands and moves toward the indicated hut.

The hut is empty and dark, save for what light comes in from the firepit. A mat and a roll in the corner would appear to provide a sleeping place. Another mat hanging inside the doorway provides some means for closing the "door" and shutting out the firelight – and the nighttime chill. H'rral receives several more hand-signs and pats on the shoulder, and at last he is left alone in the chamber.

H'rral stands at the door to the hut for several long minutes, marking the positions of the various sentries that are visible in the trees. Finally, with an angry shake of his head, the jaguar turns to the mat and roll and spreads them across the ground. "No. They deserve better than that."

The night is filled with calls and trills of the unseen jungle birds and beasts. The jungle does not sleep.