"Whatever she was, Lloyd, I will never dismiss myths or legends after this trip."
Far across the canyon the winds carried the howling cries of the dogs that never made it to the bridge, in pursuit of the two men.
Through the telescope Boyce peered at the other side of the canyon at a scant few dogs that paraded back and forth, and then throwing themselves off of the cliff to join their dead comrades below. He passed the glass to Lloyd.
"The parts couldn't survive without the rest of the body."
Boyce listened and nodded at Lloyd's insight. It was personal to his friend, but Boyce understood the consequences of the dogs'suicide.
"Instead of living with the loss, knowing they would bare great loneliness, they decided to die rather than carry on by themselves."
Several hours after the sun rose high in the sky, the two continued south on their journey back to Pomperaque.
The next five days were relaxing and uneventful, in comparison to their trek through the forest. Many animals were seen along this path but none seemed hostile — to the men's relief.
They only had the one weapon left between them. Physically, they were becoming weaker with each meter that they travelled, but regardless of their discomfort, they relentlessly carried-on.
On their eleventh day of travel they came across a God-sent farming community where they replenished their food and water supplies.