It was hot, so hot that every breath Riyad took felt like an effort. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he scowled. Weren’t eyebrows supposed to protect you from sweat? He rubbed his arm over his forehead but it made barely any difference: within seconds the sweat was pouring into his eyes again. He crouched down on the bracken and reached for his water bottle. There was only an inch or so left. How long had he been out here? It couldn’t be more than an hour or so. Riyad groaned. He should have rationed his water. Or brought more with him. Or stayed by the wreckage of the plane.
Too late now. He couldn’t find his way back to the plane if he’d wanted to. Every single direction looked identical. Huge green leaves, vines, tree trunks so tall they surely touched the sky. And a constant buzzing and hissing of things in the undergrowth; things he couldn’t see but which could definitely see him…