Jane could feel the air between her toes as she dangled them over the precipice. “This is amazing,” she panted, still exhausted from their run.
Swinging from vines isn’t as fun as it used to be, thought Tarzan. He’d got a dodgy back, and the rope burns on his moisturised hands were giving him some serious gip.
Jane took out her knife and began prowling, like an angry badger. There was nothing to help them across the gaping chasm. They’d have to improvise. “There’s a fallen tree over there,” yelled Jane, pointing to their right. “We could use it to bridge the gap.”
Tarzan pulled a face. Last time they’d shimmied across a tree he’d got a splinter, which had hung around for days.
“I don’t think it’ll take the weight. We’ll have to ditch the supplies,” said Jane. She gestured to their canvas bag, full to the brim with hummus and Jammy Dodgers. Tarzan looked incredulous. He’d only agreed to this thrill-seeking date to keep the peace, after he botched Tuesday’s dinner.
Night was fast approaching and the pair were nowhere near the shelter they’d picked out for their romantic sojourn. It hadn’t mentioned rope bridges in the brochure.
Jane started gathering branches while Tarzan slouched towards a tree, where he could get his sulk on.