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墨書 Inktalez
I was momentarily dazed from the impact, grateful that there were no protruding branches on the tree trunk; otherwise, that inertia would have surely poked my eyes out.
With my head spinning, I clung tightly to the trunk, afraid to move until my mind cleared. At that moment, I heard Buasong's anxious voice calling out. I managed to turn my head and saw Lao People across the way, waving a Glow Stick frantically, looking quite flustered.
Just then, Buasong illuminated the One-Eyed Beast with a flashlight, shining it on the trunk across from us. To my horror, several Crimson Snakes had already climbed to a point about two meters above Lao People's height.
I held onto the trunk with one hand while desperately tossing a rope toward Lao People with the other. Thankfully, Lao People caught the rope just in time and jumped over. It was truly dangerous; at the moment Lao People leaped from the branch, several Crimson Snakes lunged toward his position.
I had just begun to breathe a sigh of relief when I suddenly spotted several Crimson Snakes coiled at the treetop, flying toward our tree. Their movement startled me so much that I nearly lost my grip, tilting my head in shock as I stared at the snakes approaching.
In that instant, time seemed to freeze. The crimson snakes flew through the air like demons. They were so close that even in the dim light of the Glow Stick, I could clearly see their almost transparent fangs glinting ominously.
My body stiffened, rendering me unable to move; any action felt superfluous. I didn't even have the courage to continue watching. As I was cornered by this group of Crimson Snakes on the tree, I had anticipated a grim fate, but when disaster struck, the feeling of dread overwhelmed me. I instinctively reached for my gun but suddenly remembered it might be out of bullets; my hand froze in my pocket as despair washed over me.
Like a tragicomedy unfolding before me, just as the Crimson Snakes flew halfway toward us, they suddenly faltered and plummeted downward, vanishing into the darkness. Surviving this ordeal gave me strength; I completely forgot about the pain from hitting my head against the tree and quickly climbed higher to Buasong's level. He was perched on a branch untangling a rope.
Buasong had also witnessed those snakes launching toward us but remained calm, seemingly aware that they couldn't reach us. Another Lao Person was also unfazed as he climbed toward a higher branch. Meanwhile, the snakes on the opposite tree were wildly leaping toward our tree.
At that moment, I finally understood their jumping technique: they coiled up first and then sprang forward with force. However, their springing power was insufficient due to their short stature; they couldn't make it across and all fell into the dark water below. The closest distance between these two trees was still six or seven meters—a chasm for snakes that barely measured less than a foot long.
Yet this group of snakes was making such desperate leaps toward us; their almost suicidal attack method baffled me. If their initial assault on us in that dry area stemmed from our reckless intrusion into their territory, now we were merely swept here by floodwaters—why were they attacking us so fiercely? This behavior transcended species norms and left me perplexed.
But there was no need for understanding; there was no time for it either. As I observed below with One-Eyed Beast, I noticed that several Crimson Snakes at the lower half of this tree trunk began to stir. Perhaps our jump had caused vibrations that startled those snakes coiled beneath the trunk, prompting them to climb rapidly upward. Moreover, this broadleaf tree had many branches and vines intertwined around its trunk and limbs, allowing the Crimson Snakes to move quickly.
I looked up at the Lao People; one of them had already chosen a branch as a launching pad and was climbing to the tip. It seemed they had long since noticed the movements of the Snake Swarm below or had anticipated this outcome, as they immediately began searching for their next target after jumping over.
This time, I clearly lagged behind. By the time I reached that branch, one of the Lao People had already jumped to an adjacent tree. Buasong didn’t wait for me; as soon as I climbed onto the branch, I saw him leap over as well. I caught the rope Buasong threw my way and swung over to another tree.
Having gained some experience, I extended my legs first as I swung over. Although I still couldn’t see clearly on the other side, stretching my legs out helped avoid the disaster of hitting my head against the tree. This way, I could use my mouth to hold onto the One-Eyed Beast for light because I noticed that the two Lao People had no intention of stopping their Tarzan-like escape; it seemed they intended to keep going. They jumped onto this tree and immediately began looking for their next leap.
Fortunately, it had rained quite a bit, allowing us to lift our heads and observe our surroundings. The forest was dense, with no more than ten meters between adjacent trees—of course, I meant the closest distance between neighboring branches. This meant we could potentially evade the swarm of venomous snakes by continuously jumping from tree to tree. As long as they couldn’t stay right on our tails or track us through temperature and scent, they would eventually lose sight of us.
We needed to constantly search for trees that were close together and find convenient spots to jump across, requiring us to move up or down frequently. I had to climb desperately on the branches just to keep up with the pace of the two Lao People. This high-intensity activity quickly aggravated the pain in my back once again.
Jumping between trees made it difficult to determine an accurate direction; our primary focus was whether we could leap onto another tree. However, I noticed that our general direction was consistent: we were moving downstream. The direction was chosen by the Lao People; I had almost no say in it, and keeping up with their rhythm took all my effort.
As we continued deeper into the forest, I found that it became denser, with distances between trees gradually closing in. In some places, the gap between adjacent trees shrank to just two or three meters. I felt it necessary to warn the Lao People that at such short distances, those snakes might be able to jump across, putting us in a dire situation. However, at that moment, both Lao People seemed to be in an excited state, leaping between branches with monkey-like agility; my shouts did not seem to affect them.
As a result, I had to constantly keep an eye on the snakes behind me since I was running last. If those damned snakes caught up with me, I would undoubtedly be the first sacrifice. Fortunately, we were moving fast—mainly due to the speed of the two Lao People; I was merely forced to keep up or risk being left behind. At least there were no snakes visible behind me now; however, there were still some in the water below, though not as densely packed as before.
Luckily, what I feared did not happen. Moreover, it seemed we were approaching a glimmer of hope.
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