The jiggle, it seemed, was a language of its own.
That’s when she saw them. The Vaziri.
The morning sun, a molten gold coin, clawed its way through the dense, layered canopy of the Verduran Depths. It painted the world below in fractured light and shadow, illuminating a scene of primordial stillness. A single, massive orchid, the colour of bruised velvet, trembled as a drop of dew as big as a child’s fist fell from its petal. The drop arced in slow motion, a tiny, perfect sphere holding a refracted world, and landed with a soft plink directly on the forehead of a woman lying unconscious in a tangle of liana vines. Tarzeena- Jiggle in the Jungle
The story of Tarzeena. The soft, curvy scholar who shook the jungle to its core—one glorious, unapologetic jiggle at a time. The jiggle, it seemed, was a language of its own
Omari looked at her blankly.
Her name was Dr. Jennifer S. Plimpton. At least, it had been, before the charter plane’s engine had coughed, sputtered, and died over the heart of the uncharted Congo basin. The morning sun, a molten gold coin, clawed