The Divested Hunt
The jungle is a riot of sensation. Gigantic flowers, wide across as a vox dish, cover the canopy, some bright blue, others striped white and green. The few spears of light that penetrate the overhead canopy illuminate clouds of pollen dancing on the air currents. The Space Marines' uncanny sense of smell picks out an underlying aroma of rotting vegetation, a fetid, cloying stench of stagnant waters clashing with the vibrant smells of living things. Speckled lizards scramble up and down tree trunks, hissing challenges to one another.
The team stands upon a game trail, which winds its ways deep into the undergrowth ahead, lost amid the twists and turns and curtains of hanging vines.
"I am on advance," Ydnar says. "Who has the van and the rearguard?"
The team stands upon a game trail, which winds its ways deep into the undergrowth ahead, lost amid the twists and turns and curtains of hanging vines.
"I am on advance," Ydnar says. "Who has the van and the rearguard?"




Brother Androcles