Broneslav slogged on up the hills to a mountain pass that the Rakasta had told him about. This made it slightly quicker going for him and two days later he was descending from the mountains towards a huge river that had cut a deep swath through the landscape. From his vantage point at the end of the pass, he could see a bridge crossing the chasm in the distance, clearly connected to the massive plateau beyond. This, he thought, was his objective. He set up camp just short of the bridge, in a sheltered spot and settled down for the night.
Suddenly the peace of the night was shattered by screams and thrown sticks and stones and shit. Broneslav had inadvertantly camped in the territory of another troop of rock baboons. He grabbed his stuff and found another place to camp that was quieter but not as comfortable. He would cross the bridge tomorrow and find out if the rumours of a mysterious city were true.
