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Mitru
HIPComix Artist
Joined: Wed Feb 03, 2010 11:17 am
Posts: 2767
Location: Bilbao (Spain)
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 TARZANN -The Last Law of the Wild- 02 The sun burned white-hot against the sand, but the jungle welcomed her with a shroud of damp, cool shadows. Tarzann left the gentle rumble of the elephants behind, the soft crunch of their footsteps replaced by the sharp symphony of the canopy. Her body, a coiled spring of sun-bleached muscle and tanned skin, moved with an economy of motion that was both graceful and deadly.
Her leopard-print bikini, little more than a second skin, was damp with sea-spray and sweat, clinging to the hard planes of her abdomen and the powerful curve of her breasts. She didnt run on the ground the earth was for lesser creatures. Instead, she reached up, her fingers finding a thick, gnarled liana with the unerring accuracy of a predator sighting its prey. The rough vine bit into her palm, a familiar and welcome sensation.
She swung. Her body became a pendulum of pure kinetic force, arcing through the green-filtered light. Muscles in her back, shoulders, and core tightened and released in a flawless rhythm, propelling her from one handhold to the next. The wind rushed past her ears, whipping strands of pale gold hair across her face. Below, the forest floor was a blur of ferns and fallen leaves. This was her true language, this silent, soaring flight.
She landed softly, her bare feet sinking into the rich, black loam without a sound. Her senses, honed over a lifetime of wilderness, immediately sharpened. The air smelled different here. The clean scent of decaying vegetation and blooming orchids was tainted. Something acrid. Metallic. Human.
Her blue eyes, the color of a shallow tropical sea, scanned the ground. There. A boot print, deep and cleated, crushing a delicate cluster of mushrooms. Then another. And another. A trail. Not the soft, splayed print of an indigenous tracker, but the harsh, aggressive stamp of military gear. The path was fresh, the edges of the impressions still sharp.
A low growl rumbled in her chest, a sound she had learned from the great cats that were her only siblings for so long. She followed the spoor with a hunters relentless patience, her body flowing through the undergrowth like mist, leaving no trace of her own passage.
The smell grew strongerunwashed bodies, oil, the faint, sweet scent of cooked meat. The murmur of voices, rough and guttural, replaced the natural sounds of the jungle, which had fallen into a wary silence. She crested a small rise, her form melting behind the broad trunk of a kapok tree.
Below, in a small clearing, was their camp. Five men. They lounged around a smoldering fire, their AK-47 rifles propped against logs or slung carelessly over shoulders. They wore faded, sweat-stained camouflage, their faces hard and bored. Empty tins of food littered the ground beside bottles of cheap liquor. They were talking, laughing, their conversation a coarse thing about women and money. They were a blight. A poison in her world.TARZANN -The Last Law of the Wild- 02: http://memberslogin.hipcomix.com/gallery3/index.php/Mitru/Tarzann/The-Last-Law-of-the-Wild Read on... ONLY in HIPcomix.com
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