text: You depart. At first, the path is gentle and flat, but about an hour later, it starts to get hillier, with stones and roots lying in wait on the floor for any inattentive foot. You go on for a few more hours, walking more and more slowly, not because you're tired, but because you're afraid that you've missed the bones. Somehow you don't think they'll just be lying in the middle of the path, and you wonder how Milton got the leg, and why it was only those bones he found.
  
  Hours pass, and, if you could have seen the sun, it would probably be high up in the sky, indicating midday, and also, lunch. So you pause briefly, munching on a pre-prepared vegetable mixture. However, all this food and no drink leaves you very thirsty, and you walk on, but this time also keeping an ear out for the sound of running water. Thankfully, this comes to your attention not a few minutes later, and you carefully pick your way through the trees to a little stream, and pull off the basket. Cupping your hands together, you slurp some gratefully up.
  
  However, just as you stand up, something on the opposite bank catches your eye. Some of the many bushes and shrubs lining the stream have been trampled, obviously by something very heavy. It couldn't possibly be...?
  
  Eager to find out, you strap the basket back on, jump over the stream onto the other side, and start following the tracks, which are easy to follow even for someone as inexperienced as you. These tracks must mean that the Gigantopithecus has come along here several times, and so when it died it took a long time for the shrubs to start to grow back, but even so they should have done so in two or three months, therefore the ape can't have died that long ago. The ape has forged an apathetic path that only gives way to the unyielding trees. On and on it goes, and unconsciously you increase your pace, desperate to reach the end.
  
  Then you reach a fork in the road; it suddenly occurs to you that this ape probably had a whole network of paths, and you'll have to be very clever if you want to find the bones before nightfall. After thinking hard, you take the right-hand path that seems fairly well-trodden- the more well-trodden, the closer you should be to their nest. Working on this logic, you pick from several more paths – right, left, left, left, right, left, right – and it works to your advantage.
  
  After an hour or more of this guesswork, and after passing the same spot three times, you reach a jagged wall of rock, around ten metres high, where the face of a steep hill must have collapsed. There is a tiny crack about half way down, which widens and widens until it becomes a shallow cave - perfect shelter for a tall, hulking beast. All around this cave, the grass is practically ground into the earth. And even though you know the beast is dead –Milton's find proved that- you approach somewhat tentatively.
  
  A large part of the cave is taken up by an enormous nest, woven out of sticks and leaves- it could probably accommodate eight men comfortably. And the other overwhelming factor is the smell; you should have expected it, considering there's recently been the equivalent of four rotting bodies in here. You have no shirt to cover your mouth and nose, so try and ignore the stench. Where are the bones? Eventually, you spot them, lying in a dark corner. Shouting out in joy, you race towards them. You pull out Milton's notes and compare the two- yes, they're the same, you've found them! You can't stop smiling and laughing, and as you bundle all the bones into your wicker basket and put it back on, you imagine your parents face when they read the paper, and see the name of their disinherited son!
  
  Then, suddenly you find out three things all at once. These three things are that Faorame was right when he said this path was dangerous, why Milton only came away with the bones of only one leg, and that your parents will never read about their son in the paper.
  
  Because blocking the entrance to the cave is the 10-foot high, dark, hulking, hairy figure of a live Gigantopithecus. You only have time to think, He'd look good in a loincloth, before he picks you up with an ear-splitting roar, piercing something with those sharp claws, and throws you a good ten yards against a tree.
  
  It's a very good thing you have that wooden wicker basket on your back (although not so good for the ape bones), and it protects you from the majority of the blow. Dazed and winded, through your tear-filled eyes you can see a black blob moving about in the cave. What on earth can it be looking for? Then, realising it's in the wicker basket, you panic.
  
  Save yourself or have one last shot at your dream?
  
  > keep the basket and climb up the tree
  You came half the way across the world for this; you are not going to give up at the sight of some monkey that, according to science, shouldn't even exist. One last effort.
  
  Trying to move as silently as possible, you stand up, head still turning, and slowly crawl up the tree in a daze. It's a lot harder than you remember, and you seem to be having particular difficulty manoeuvring your left leg, but eventually you reach the highest branch possible that will still hold your weight.
  
  Far below you, the ape has put two and two together and has realised that the bones are gone, and that you must have stolen them. It steps out of the cave on all fours, sniffing the air suspiciously, and slowly draws closer to the tree you're hiding in. Peering up, it sees you, and roars. Then it seems to go into a frenzy, rearing up at a terrific height, ramming into the tree, trying and trying to climb the branches, all the while screaming like a banshee. Clutching as hard as you can onto the tree trunk, you are jolted around, until there is no breath left inside of you. On top of all of this, an ear-splitting crack! sounds. It was as you'd hoped: even these sturdy branches are no match for the Gigantopithecus' weight, and it falls heavily to the ground.
  
  Quite suddenly, the battering ceases. Relieved, you look down; the ape is now sat in front of your tree, and is placidly picking bits of dirt out of its fur. What on earth is it doing? Whatever this new tactic may be, you make full use of the respite in order to examine your left leg. As it turns out, when the Gigantopithecus grabbed you with those long, sharp claws, he ripped away a good chunk of your thigh; it's bleeding freely, -in fact, all your left leg is slick with blood - and now your terror has worn off slightly, it hurts. However no ointment or bandages are at hand, and so, forcing the matter out of your mind, you prepare yourself for the next onslaught of the Gigantopithecus.
  
  Five minutes pass, and then ten, and then twenty. Still it sits quietly, not doing a thing. You cannot think of a single reason why it's acting like this. And then it dawns on you: it can just wait until nightfall, when you fall asleep and inevitably fall from the tree. Or, judging by your throbbing wound, that might happen much sooner.
  
  Is there anything you can do? As night falls, you begin to shiver in your meagre loincloth, and try desperately to think of a solution. Can you distract the ape? Move from tree to tree to escape it? Try and outwait it? But all of these options are too risky, and the dull throbbing from your leg makes it hard to think. In fact, you're beginning to feel quite faint. As the night draws on, it becomes harder and harder to stay awake, and you're so very tired...
  
  When your vision finally blackens, the main emotion you feel is relief.