I.

It had been an approximate six months, fifteen days, nine hours and twenty-something seconds since he'd arrived.

And not once in that length of time did Leonardo feel he'd achieved what he'd left home for.

The quiet rustle of leaves interrupted his train of thought, and the blue-banded turtle opened one eye and peeked through the foliage of the tree he'd taken refuge in for the night. The rays of light slipping between the lush leaves signaled an hour well after dawn. Maybe one of the villagers got lost in the forest…

…Again. Leonardo briefly toyed with the idea of spreading a rumor about bandits just to keep the curious ones at their village. Not much of a chance that would work though.

Stretching his limbs, he nimbly stood upright on the branch, noting how humid the air was this early in the morning. It'd get hotter as the day stretched on, he knew, and idly opted to find that waterfall he had passed a few weeks back. It would make an excellent spot for meditation.

Looking down at the dim rainforest floor, his eyes searched for anything but the usual green of fauna and foliage, expecting either one very curious villager, or one very experienced tribe-member hunting for food.

He, instead, found Fate throwing a metaphorical piece of bullshit at him in the form of a bandit caravan passing through the rainforest's only road. It consisted of a short line of vans with tinted, most likely bulletproof windows – three, at his current line of sight – each flanked by armed goons on foot. As the caravan continued on, Leonardo sucked in a breath and darted forward. He saw their slow pace, noted their sunken cheeks and dry tongues when they spoke. Low on supplies then, finding water must be a priority as well. He saw their hungry, darkened eyes occasionally flicking towards a particular van, sometimes whispering to a fellow bandit as they curled and uncurled their fists.

The first van on the line rocked considerably more than the four others, and Leonardo could hear some faint thumping inside. He swallowed the bile rising up his throat and observed the third van. Rambunctious laughter echoed from the surprisingly open window, revealing a television and more than a few bandits inside. Te scent of alcohol wafted to his spot among the treetops, and then after wrinkling his snout at the smell, his attention diverted to the last van.

Steady, silent – unknown, a threat.

Or if he had any luck, he was over thinking things.

Fat chance of that happening though.