They left me, and now they're coming for me.

I climbed up a slippery, moss-covered tree, grabbing branch after branch, leaping once, and hauling myself up to perch on a gently-swaying limb. I could feel it. I could feel it in the air, hear it in the chattering birds that had gone silent, the cackling monkeys who had quieted themselves; feel it in the wind that seemed to have a harsher bite to it; feel it in the air itself, so thick with moisture but the rain wasn't coming down.

In my tribe, loyalty is everything. My brother and I made our way through the jungle together one evening, it was cold, raining, when he turned on me, put a knife to my throat, and ordered me never to return.

I slipped down the branch closer to the trunk of the tree, peering through the thick foliage hoping to catch a glance of my pursuers.

"You're not one of us," he had hissed at me, his eyes burning into mine.

"What? What did I do?"

"You betrayed us. You were a coward. You ran away."

In the distance, I heard the gentle swishing of leaves and grass and ferns.

Did I run away? Did I? Yes. No. What did it matter? My brother left me to die in the unforgiving jungle, telling me he was protecting me. That the rest of the tribe wanted to kill me.

Did I hear the crack of a twig? Of course I didn't. In my tribe, you're taught to walk stealthier than that. I heard the wind blow, I heard nothing else, and that silence, that silence in a howling jungle told me.

They were coming for me.

I climbed higher in my tree. I grabbed an over hanging limb, tested my weight against it, then let myself fall, holding tight. I reached the lower branch of the neighboring tree, hugged its trunk to stop my fall. I heard the whistling of the tribesmen calling to each other.

Then I heard the first scream. Agonized. And more. The pain was mixed with something deeper... terror.

They hadn't expected me to be prepared for them.

The screaming stopped, and the howling jungle was as silent as a bed of rain-damp moss.

They left me. And now I'm coming for them.