Splat

After battling with the ropes for a few moments, Hummingbird managed to undo one of the more difficult knots. I felt all the ropes slacken and managed to wriggle an arm out of a loophole.

Splat.

I landed face-first in the sand beneath the tree, emittiing a loud and utterly nonsensical curse word in the process. I heard Hummingbird laugh and managed to lurch into a messy, but technically upright position. Spitting out a mouthful of sand I got to my feet and attempted to brush myself off. My hair was sticking up at all angles like a bird's nest, the not-blonde-but-not-brown mass clotted together with twigs, mud, dust, camoflage cream and, more recently, sand. No matter how many times I washed the damned thing it always seemed to get messy again. Curses.

I turned to the still sniggering Hummingbird:

"Well that was one way to make an entrance," I said, trying to make myself feel less embarrased, "Now then, who's who here? I appear to be slightly... misplaced."

The End

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