Thorne rose, and with one final goodbye to his parents’ resting place, he returned to the jungle. Within minutes he was swinging on the thick vines and landing on crisscrossing branches until he reached the path that would lead him to Bwanbale’s village.
As he reached the forest’s edge, he stood in the same spot where he had let Eden go. His heart hammered at the memory that had once hurt him, yet now held hope. He saw the small brightly colored shamba houses, their grounds, according to Bwanbale, thick with fruit and vegetables, many of which Thorne had never seen before.
At the time, Thorne could not fathom what else he would ever wish to eat besides nuts and mangoes, other than the occasional deer he hunted. But now he wondered—wondered about all the things Bwanbale had spoken of.
Th
