“What?”
“Hold the container!”
Cerise picked up the vial topped with a specialized paper designed for milking the venom from snakes and other creatures.
I gripped the icdicae behind the head with one hand and attempted to control its writing body with the other.
My glasses started sliding down my nose. “Help!”
“What?” Cerise shouted over the rain.
“My glasses!”
She pushed my glasses back up my nose and burst into laughter at my obvious disgust with the insect. She could barely hold the vial still, she was laughing so hard.
“Dammit, hurry up! I can’t hold onto this thing much longer!”
Still laughing, she held the vial just below the insect’s pincers. I brought it closer and it bit down, drops of venom dripping into the glass container.
After a couple of minutes, Cerise nodded, indicating she’d gotten enough, and I shoved the creature back into the specimen box and shuddered, removing my gloves.
The rain died down to a drizzle, the downpour leaving as quickly as it came. The sounds of birds wound their way through the boughs above, as if they were laughing at my plight.
“Well, that was an adventure,” Cerise said, hands on her hips. “Who knew you were scared of icdicae?”
“They just have so many legs,” I groaned. “Long, sticky, sharp legs. Next time, you’re holding it.”
She nudged me. “It will probably go smoother if I do.”
I lay in my tent,tossing, turning, and lamenting over my inability to fall asleep for hours. It was so damned hot. Hot, sticky, and stifling. Absolutely miserable.
“Ugh,” I groaned loudly, rolling over and flopping onto my bedroll.
“Are you awake too?” Cerise called from her tent.
“Unfortunately.”
“It’s too hot. I can’t sleep.”
“Seems we’re in the same predicament.” I let out a big sigh, staring at the brown canvas above me.
An owl hooted close by, a haunting and beautiful melody rising above the steady trill of insects and the occasional cry of a nocturnal mammal. A breeze rustled the leaves in the boughs of the trees, blending with the trickle of water from a nearby stream. It was beautiful. Peaceful. It should have relaxed me. But the symphony of the jungle was not enough to lull me to sleep. Not with the oppressive air in this godsdamned tent.
I sat up. “I have an idea.”
“What?” Cerise sounded less than enthusiastic.
“Meet me outside in five minutes.”
“No. It’s the middle of the night. We should be sleeping. I need my eight hours or?—”
“Cerise,” I interrupted. “Shut up and meet me outside in five minutes.”
“Did you just tell me to shut up?” She scoffed, then mumbled to herself as I heard shuffling around the tent as if she was getting dressed.
I pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt, laced my boots, and went outside. Moments later, Cerise emerged wearing her usual attire of thick pants, a button-up, and her hair braided tightly down her back.
“How do youlook so put together in the middle of the night?”