The Golden Zephyr descended through the cloud layer, and the world below exploded into color.
The North had been white and grey. The Jungle of Golden Stripes was a riot of emerald green, shocking pink, and deep, muddy brown. The trees were so tall they scraped the belly of the airship. Vines as thick as pythons draped between branches, dotted with flowers the size of dinner plates.
And the noise. It wasn't just loud; it was a wall of sound. Insects buzzed, birds shrieked, and monkeys howled. It sounded like an orchestra warming up inside a sauna.
"Touchdown in five minutes!" Rajah bellowed from the helm. He was beaming, inhaling the thick, wet air like it was perfume. "Smell that? That is the scent of home! Rotting leaves and danger!"
"It smells like soup," Orion mumbled from inside his bubble. "Very hot, very damp vegetable soup."
Caspian stood next to him, looking miserable. His usually perfect hair was already starting to dampen at the temples.
