During the day, the thickness of the trees made the jungle a realm of perpetual twilight. And when night fell, it fell hard, and it fell fast. The only light was a tiny fire casting strange and unearthly shadows across the greenery.
With a quick, overhand swing of his hatchet, Justin split the little tree he'd cut straight down the middle. The inner fibers were green and oozed with moisture. He tossed it to Ahlund, who placed it in a pile beside the fire, holding his white-hot sword over it to dry it.
Justin grabbed another piece and readied it to be split. Between swings, he wiped the bugs off him. They were even worse at night. The very ground moved with them. Every surface was covered with them, including his body. His skin was bumped with bites. He had tried to fight them off at first, but, after a while, he just did his best to ignore them.