Blade broke a branch off a nearby bush to use as a flyswatter. He pulled a few leaves from the branch, tasted one, then started chewing it slowly for the moisture. Waving the branch ahead of him, Blade started off.

It was an hour before he was out of sight of the big tree. In another hour he couldn't have said how far he'd come, and only occasional glimpses of the sun told him he was traveling roughly northwest. Since he couldn't see that one direction was much better than another, he kept on in that direction. Sometimes he was even able to travel in a straight line for a whole five minutes.

After the first couple of hours, he'd learned to tell the places where he could push through from the places where he had to go around. He'd learned the hard way, and his skin showed a fine pattern of thorn gouges and pricks. The scent of blood attracted a swarm of insects, a few of them with stingers.

After another hour Blade was able to move faster, because the underbrush was thinning out. In places the ground was bare for fifty yards at a stretch, except for dead leaves and patches of moss and ferns. It was easy to see why. Overhead the trees now made such a perfect canopy that sunlight could barely reach the ground. Blade realized that he might be moving faster now, but without the sun to guide him he might also be moving in a circle. It still didn't matter too much, as long as he didn't have the foggiest idea of the best way to go. Meanwhile it was a great relief not to have thorns jabbing him every few yards.

There were plenty of the vines whose leaves Blade had chewed first. Every time he passed one he plucked a fresh handful of the leaves, to keep his mouth and throat moist. They didn't stop him from sweating buckets, though, or replace the water he lost in that sweat. By the time he'd been on the move for half a day, he knew he'd have to slow down if he didn't find water soon.