Characters: Mal, Polly
Rating: C

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.

Man in the Jungle
by Amazon Syren

     Overhead, the sky was a haze of heat and dust. The swampy ground was steaming as she pushed her way through the thick, green foliage. In the distance, she could hear the wopwopwop of the air-born cavalry, she could smell the stink of the soil, of the bodies spoiling in the heat. Charlie was out here somewhere. She could feel it. And, godsdammit, she couldn’t see the jungle for the fucking trees – nothing like being surrounded by lots of pointy stakes to put one’s mind at ease, was there?
      “RUVC? RUVC?” she mumbled to herself. “RU—”
      Unexpected hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her once, sharply.
      “Dammit, Mal,” hissed— Polly. It was Polly. Mal could see Wazzer’s worried face over Polly’s shoulder. Around her, the jungle faded back into the browns and greys of the forest. Not much better, but at least it was real.
      “If you don’t stop muttering,” Polly continued, fiercely, “I swear I’m gonna smack you next time, do you understand me? With a big stick.”
      Her eyes, Mal noticed, were quite worried. Well, she would be, too, given the whole Zlobenian situation. Er. And the other thing. Not thinking about that! Not thinking about that! ‘The sun’ll come out! Tomorrow! I’ll be walking in the light, tomorrow!’
      “S-sorry,” Mal faltered, keeping her voice down. She blinked, shaking her head. “I just… was somewhere else for a minute. I think. I’m fine, really.”
      Polly gave her a look.
      “You sure?” she whispered.
      “Yeah, yeah. Fine. No problem.” Mal swallowed.
      Polly held her gaze for a moment longer.
      “Okay, then,” she said, finally, letting go of Mal’s shoulders. “If you’re sure.”
      The three of them crept on, in silence.
      “Were you serious about the big stick?” Mal asked, after a few minutes.
      “Yes!” Polly hissed. “You’re scaring the hell out of me.”
      “Sorry,” she whispered, thinking, You have no bl—blooming, blooming, idea.
      She focused on the trees around her, on the way they were very distinctly the pines and spruces of a temperate forest. Not a jungle. Not a jungle at all.
      …wopwopwop…
      “What does RUVC mean, anyway?” Polly whispered, eventually, breaking into Mal’s reverie.
      “I— I’m not really sure,” Mal conceded.
      After that, the silence descended once more.