Qawasha looked thoughtful after The Red Horns told his tale. "There are more mysteries upon this earth than we can ever begin to understand," he said. "Thank you for sharing your tale. You have given me much to ponder."

The next day dawned cloudy, and rather than the brief monsoons they'd grown used to, instead they endured a steady rain all day. The warm downpour made the jungle even more unpleasant; at least the most of the bugs were hiding for the day. Qawasha struggled with his bearings, the canoes were heavy, and nobody was having a good time. Twice you stumble across undead, but only singly or in pairs, and they are put down with no injuries to the living.

At least there is no trouble collecting clean drinking water as you rest that night, and the rain lets up in the wee hours. Nobody notices the eye-shine of the creature that watches you for a few minutes in the middle of the night.

The next morning dawns bright and muggy, and with a low-lying mist hanging over the steaming vegetation. Shouldering the canoes, the party trudges on. By midday, the trees seem to thin out a bit ahead, and you soon discover why.

You come up to a large clearing, at least 500 feet across. The ground here is slightly swampy. About ten feet in front of you stands a wall of briars and thorns, 20 feet high and running in either direction. It appears to have a slight curve to it, as if you're standing outside a big circle, perhaps one big enough to enclose most of the clearing.

Skeleton bones litter the ground between the jungle and the thorny wall. You can hear a vague moaning sound, and walk a few feet along the wall to find a pair of zombies skewered on the long thorns. They are twisting weakly, trying to get free, but they are too completely impaled.