I started to head back to the muddy depression I'd first found safety in - but I recoiled at the idea of returning to that hole, of hiding in the mud again after I conquered my foe.

I was vulnerable here, and the arrogance that had me climbing the tree and feeling on top of the world - it had been tempered. Muted.

I could be attacked from any direction, and with the hole I only had to worry bout the one, but I hadn't been attacked here yet - and I liked it in the trees. I felt comfortable up here. Felt like it would be harder for me to be surrounded.

I saw much better then before - all my senses were better if I could learn to pay attention to them, even in the low light beneath the canopy, I could see vibrant details and contrast to the forefront of my awareness. I didn't think it would be easy to catch me by surprise up here.

And my hearing was just as crisp and responsive, but the problem was I didn't know what animals sounded like, getting ready to attack. A bird fluttering on a branch was jarring - any sound was an equal threat when you didn't know the difference.

The boisterous baritone of a bullfrog was enough to send me backing away before I knew it's name. I remembered the rustling of grasses with Enemy-Friends charge, and it was already too late.

But there is one sound that scared me more than any other here. The sound of silence. I had already made my decision to sleep in the free air, to aim higher than my mud puddle for preservation. But as true night approached and the sounds faded I worried I had made the wrong choice.

Because all I could think about was that terrible roar - and the silence that had followed, and the silence that descended upon me now. It was a slower thing - sneakier, as the jungle voices dropped off one by one.

But that almost made it worse, like the silence was getting closer.

I was extended out on a branch. I'd used the rope to do my best to make a hammock, bending them together. I could lay back and relax somewhat, perhaps even doze. If my mind could rest.

But as the light faded complete, sleep was the last thing I thought about.

The screams were sudden, sharp, and short.

I couldn't place how far - how close. Couldn't guess what sort of throat, each one unique in sound, and absolutely the same in meaning. They broke the silence like a car alarm, I peaked out the windows of my eyes to spot the burglar, that thief of life, and wondered if I was next.

My ears stretched, trying to discern the difference between a scratch of branch or claw, the whispering of leaves or wings of death? Each sound felt louder than the last, and yet not loud enough to chase off the pervasive silence.

Not loud enough to drown out the beating of my heart.

So I searched for light in the store and I found a flashlights and lanterns, a lighter and matches, but the idea of being the only shining light in the darkness. Of feeling the terrors of the night swarm over me like moths to my flame had me pulling my hands back against the idea of a flame as though it was already burning me.

And again I closed my eyes, forcing them to stay closed. I had my pain stick tied above me on the route to my nest, hoping it would be enough to snag any intruders that took a path to an easy dinner. I looked into myself for a distraction - plunging deep inside.

I began to try to understand my inventory - to understand it's boundaries.

It was a graveyard of bones and bodies and school supplies, all strewn about. I began to sort and stack them and make sense of what I had. I pushed out the walls of what had started feeling like a big empty bucket out into a flat open room.

Bones were what I had the most of to practice with - they were a great material. Strong and smooth, sturdy. And most important, organic. Still I noticed something missing.

They didn't resonate, there was no spark in them.

But even without the extra spark I found in the bugs - which was as tiny as their little lives, the bones were still fun to play with.

Because I realized I could play with them. I stacked them up and pushed them together, pulled them apart. I bent and stretched them. I could force them against each other and the indentation they made were like legos.

Popping the small sections apart, I ran my fingers over them. Found the grooves and hollows that had grown into each other with a directed thought -

Perhaps this organic crafting had more to it then I had first thought...

I dove back into my mind and practiced and played, feeling how far I could push the materials. I moved bone as easy as warm taffy - stretching it until it locked in place and could go no further. Another bone I just kept squishing and pinching it, swirling it.

I found another flaw.

I was weakening it, I realized. As I pinched it and it crumbled into dust. I had plenty left still left - and even if they were weaker - I started combining, weaving and popping them together. Smoothing joints - I made a cage.

It wasn't much - not for a defense. If I was in the hole - it would have been perfect, I could have made a lid to go over it that I could weigh down, nothing could reach me -

Like a sewer grate -

"Turtle, Turtle."

I slapped myself.

This cage - it was enough for me to breath, to close my eyes a moment and rest, and ignore the -

*Bang*Bang*Bang*

*Screeech*

It ripped me out of my light sleep, completely blind, I cowered away from the sound pointing at the invisible demon with my scissors. I strained every sense for the cause - that left the branch swaying and bones clattering.

But I could hear - the hungry demon that had lunged for me, lost and tumbling away in the darkness as it tore through leaves and grass screeching in pain - it brushed it.

Then I heard gnarling, gnashing of teeth ripping away the pain and it became another surprised interruption cut off in the night. The silence returned.

Perhaps the ground wasn't safer, not at all, I realized. Hearing the wet tearing, the feasting as I tried to imagine what owned those hungry mouths and shivered, pushing the thought away before the beast could grow too much larger in my mind.

'I'm the strongest.'

I didn't sleep again, and by the hourglass it'd only maybe an hour, but even after repairing and reinforcing my barrier, feeling the smashed entry, that was enough to drive sleep away permanently.

The light of man's oldest friend returned, though little reached me here - it began to chase away the horrors of the night and wake the voices that had persevered through morning. My eyes adjusted to see beyond small inches to front of me until I could make out my feet, then the Jungle was fully revealed to me and it was day

I'd survived, but already I craved a safer place to rest. I knew I could handle the small amount of sleep, knew I was hardly even tired - rather it was adrenaline or stats.

But I know. Not getting enough sleep, that leads to mistakes. I was already making enough of those without adding exhaustion on top.

So I went to hunt. For little critters. Soft bunnies or - something friendly I could crush for coins. And also materials. Anything I could use to build with. I needed anything that could improve my chances of survival.

I pulled the bones back into me and replaced the Pain Stick in it's sheath around my back, and descended, eyes open to opportunity. I started at the bottom of the tree grabbing more bones until I had got at least all the largest.

I tore at vines and bramble patches, ripping them up by the roots and sucking them in. Branches and bushes, too. Rocks. Sticky handfuls of mud. Mushrooms I knew not to taste and flowers I grabbed just because they looked neat.

My mom loved roses, yellow roses. These were at least yellow.

When my ear caught a noise, a call. Several of them. They didn't sound dangerous - or threatening, like some of the other voices deep in the trees. So I followed it.

Scanning I finally found the source, a dash of motion, movement in the canopy, running through the trees. A single figure swinging from branch to branch, jumping with all the agility I could only envy. I stood quietly watching as it joined its other little friends.

Monkeys.

And I crouched in a spot I thought was safe, watching. Waiting.

Seven played together, bouncing around in a group, pulling and yelling at each other. Dancing over the treetops. But every few minutes - something would change.

All the monkeys would swarm one, dog-piling and screeching, chasing and ripping at it. Slapping and tearing at its fur. It was quick and fierce, violent and unexpected.

I figured out what was going on when I noticed the fruit.

A hard shell like a coconut. A monkey would pluck one and try to slip away, ignored to some corner of the tree while the others played, having fun. It would bang it against the tree over and over, until finally it could reach it's fingers into the cracks -

But barely after it got it's first bite, sometimes even before. All the other monkeys went crazy. They attacked, trying to rip the fruit from the others hand and take it for themselves. The monkey that worked so hard screamed and tried to escape - taking off into the trees but with only three free hands...

The other monkeys swarmed it fast, working together to cut him off, until a new one seized the prize and then that one was being chased. The monkey who'd worked so hard exhausted, beat up and limping after them.

I thought it was a game at first, that they were all just monkeys having fun, but the fruit tumbled to the ground and the monkey that had worked at it would howl and I could just see how heartbroken it was -

And how hungry. Because it was the same monkey every time that broke open the fruits. It was the smallest monkey.

Fruits were everywhere, all over the ground, plenty in the tree as well. Not all of them looked ripe yet, or as big as the one they fought over - but they hung like Christmas ornaments of the branches. None of the monkeys bothered with them, instead they waited for the little monkey...

I had laughed at first, but it stopped being funny after the third fruit plopped onto the ground, rolling to the stop. Then it just didn't make sense.

But what bothered me just as much was when the little monkey didn't have a fruit, it played. It went back to playing with the other monkeys, swinging through the trees and having fun like they hadn't just ripped the fruit from him. Why didn't the monkey attack, or at least go out on his own...

I put the thought away as I realized I was hungry. I did have a couple snacks, and I knew I could even buy food now, too, but - I also was curious about the fruit. The monkeys had eaten it, fought over it. And one of the first rules of survival was to eat what the animals ate.

I wanted to try it. And since they were just going to waste I found myself walking over, I skipped the more destroyed ones and found one mostly intact. I reached out my toe to land on top of it, and that's when I noticed.

Quiet.

Silence descended - the chittering and yelping, the dashing across branches froze, I swung around waiting for an attack, saw nothing - I looked up. Seven monkeys looked back at me. The other noises of the jungle continued, just the monkeys now focused. Intent.

Staring.

It was so ridiculous - so familiar, like every time I'd walked onto the bus, all those heads turned to me like they'd never seen me before.

This time I waved.

And the monkeys. They waved back. Monkey see, monkey do, and I had to laugh.

So I sucked the fruit into my inventory, and all hell broke in. Like I'd kicked the barrel of em over - in the next breath, one of them was screeching out of the tree right at me.

I thought it had been pushed, thrown by the others - until it's arms and legs spread, its tail twitching behind as the flaps of skin caught the air.

Gliding toward me as the others howled, screeching, jumping up and down. Two more joined it - right behind.

As the first monkey hurtled toward me it's open mouth screeching in rage, I raised the pain stick, and the unbroken blade of the scissors appeared in my right hand. I held out my stick to the monkey, it's eyes widened and for a second it flapped it's arms like a bird - wrong direction! Wrong direction!

Brushing it.

The effect was instant, the monkey bombed the ground, twisting and flipping through convulsions, dead before the other two were even in range.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

But the other two, they'd swooped out at the others panic, gliding in opposite directions. One not far enough as I leaned out, stretching my arm with a wave - I barely felt the flick of contact.

It wasn't like a sword or a bat, I couldn't put any force in it, had to swing it slow and the contact had no satisfaction. I couldn't have even be sure I'd hit the monkey, not if it wasn't for its reaction. The same as my reaction. Monkey backflips. Monkey front flips. Monkey screams.

But then the other was on me, clambering up my armor as easily as tree bark, I felt the weight of it swing onto my shoulder.

It tore at my armor, screeching - grabbing onto my face and shaking it - hammering my head with fists. Only the slickness of it saved me from a worse thrashing - strong hands gripped dead flesh, unable to pinch beneath. I swung my scissors to him, unable to get the Pain Stick up to land a strike, but it was clumsy. I couldn't see what I was hitting.

And it was a monkey - as I had one hand tied up with the pain stick and it was too close for me to turn against myself, the monkey had four hands. All trying to pinch and pull me apart.

It got my nose - I had to drop the stick, the scissors as his crushing fingers, strong enough to rip off the strong husk of a coconut, it found the slit in my mask. My nose became a tug of war battle ground, and he wasn't letting go. I had to close my eyes as his other hands and nails scratched and tore at me - I got nowhere, blood poured and pain blossomed.

I had to give it - I surrendered my nose, feeling my way for its neck, I found it when it's teeth took a bite, found my fingers and I traced the pain grabbing ahold. Choking. Cutting off it's air.

Finally the monkey let go of my nose, the wailing siren of its screeching choked, I took it inside me when it died.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

And I turned my head, adjusting my mask to see again from where it'd gotten twisted around, I grabbed up the stick ready to meet another flight of them, but the four monkeys left in the tree weren't staring at me, but the monkey flopping on the ground...

The last one continued to thrash, twisting in its seizures. I plucked it up and once more I waved at them.

This - this is what happens.

And the monkeys stared at me - at the body as it went limp in my hand, then vanished.

They didn't wave back.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

And then I vanished the last body, claiming it.

The quiet monkeys watched - not moving.

As I started taking the fruit. Instead of the one I had planned to take, so I could try it. I decided, since I was here. And the monkeys were being such welcoming hosts...

First it was just a whimper - then a howl.

Then they shook the branches, sending leaves tumbling down. They slapped each other, pointing at me, screaming. They ran to the edge of the branch and made to leap at me, sailing out wide spread arms and legs then turned back to their tree, scampering away again, hurrying back to huddle. To clutch at each other.

Finally, as the last fruit vanished, they collapsed on themselves, defeated.

Then I started to climb.

And the frenzy! Before had been nothing - as the monkeys prayed and screamed and demanded I stop.

They hadn't wanted to share a moment ago? Had they changed their minds now?

My hands gripping branches, I trusted my reflexes - I'd watched how they moved over the trees and I realized how much I'd been holding myself back.

I climbed like a monkey. My pain stick in my mouth.

It's hard to understand the difference of condition my body was in, sure it felt refined, condensed, maybe. But that was just part of it - as I moved across the tree I began to feel the combination - all the improvements of my speed and reflexes magnified my strength that much further. That my perception saw where my hands and feet needed to go - saw a dead and dry branch before I'd crossed it -

What is five feet? What is seven? I can dunk now, no need to run or build up speed, I just had to jump -

And at 5'3, jumping that high was soaring. And the wild refusal of the monkeys, in all their loud complaints was all the cheering I needed as I landed in the branches, plucking every fruit, even the raw nibs, the green stones no larger then my thumb, I ripped them away - bouncing higher and higher, I stole them all -

And amongst them I found their nests, the worn smooth curves of the truck with patches of hair where the monkeys had slept and realized that this tree was more than just a garden, or their play place. It was their home.

And I watched as they capered among the branches, they dared themselves close but kept a 'safe' distance - but as they saw how each jump took me further and further, they inched back. Until I was left alone in the tree.

And there were more of them now - lots more, called back from whatever adventures they had left on, or perhaps to escape to eat their fruit in peace. They came back as groups. Curious, as the other monkeys screeched and pointed at me. They felt the monkeys push and slap at them, and they moved their eyes back and forth between us.

Ten monkeys.

Twenty monkeys.

When the last fruit was mine still they watched, mumbling and moaning, biting at each other. But still they stayed away, on the edges of the surrounding trees in their little groups.

It was amazing. They could probably destroy me, even if had just been the original seven. Probably easily - if they worked together. They could definitely chase me away.

But they didn't.

I don't know what stopped them, except they all watched each other. Almost like none of them wanted to be first. So instead they waited for another group, pointing out what I was doing, making sure they saw it...

While I decided what branch I wanted for my new home. I began to build my new place.