The girl floated down the river, weightless, twigs and weeds getting caught in her auburn hair, matting and twisting in its curls. When a stray log passed her, narrowly missing her skull, its weight stirred her awake.

Green haze met her eyes. Above her were the bronchial patterns of branches. Light shone through the cracks, hitting the muggy water in piercing streaks. The air was too heavy to breath, but she sucked in a lungful anyway. It smelled of duckweed.

Twisting to her stomach, she reached for the water and pulled herself forward. An ache between her rigs roared awake. She remembers being struck, thrice, twice in the ribs and once to the head.

Someone was fighting her.

She reached for the log and let it hold her weight and closed her eyes, allowing the sounds around her to register in her mind, then opened them to see a flash of muscle leap between the branches, graceful and feline. Her breath caught as a word settled with awe and fear in the back of her mind: jaguar. Holding still, she searched the trees for movement, but all that swayed the branches now was a lonely breeze. It whispered its secrets in a language foreign to the girl.

The girl started kicking the water and paddling for the shore. Her skin singed at the knuckles, which were peeled raw, and up her arms, but she kept pushing for shore. The current aided her, but her breaths grew heavy and arms leadened. She rested briefly, letting the water carry her forward, and held onto the log. Angry red strips lined the back of her arms.

She smiled to herself.

Someone was fighting her off.

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