EighteenTwenty-five kilometers northwest of the Marauá village
A skittering ruckus in the canopy brought Owen out of an uneasy sleep. He looked up through the mosquito netting of his hammock as a dark dream melted away and saw a troop of spider monkeys bouncing around in the leafy labyrinth of sunlit branches. A tiny bead of morning dew touched the corners of his lips as he watched them. At length, he pushed the netting away, sat up, and stretched. On the other side of his tiny camp, Ramirez kneeled on the ground going through his gear. A meter away from Ramirez was Hector. He'd had the last watch of the night and was squatting beside the tiny propane stove, heating water for morning tea. The men looked up as he rolled out of his hammock, then went back to their business. Appreciating the
