Sorry these shots are getting less frequent. Being a full-time college student again is really inhibiting my FanFiction writing...

He wasn't the same. Not since it had happened. Jane had tried everything to get him to open up again, but nothing was working. He was uninterested in lessons and hardly paid attention to her, but he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't go back into the jungle. There was nothing for him there. Not anymore.

Some weeks later he had started to take more of an interest in things; eating at meal times, sitting closer to the group when Jane was teaching her students. He even ventured off one day to return with some of the special fruits he liked to get for the villagers. Finally, one day, he approached Jane with a solemn look on his face.

"Jane," he said, having completely abandoned the formal address she'd taught him about. Nobody else in the village called her 'Miss Porter.' Nobody else had surnames. "Will you come with me? I want to show you something."

He guided Jane through the jungle. Helping her navigate the thick undergrowth and climb over fallen trees. She made her own way pretty well, but he still liked to help her, holding bushes and low-hanging branches out of the way so her long dresses wouldn't snag. They eventually broke through to a small clearing and he looked up at the great tree with the little shack at the top. She followed his gaze and gasped softly when she saw the battered, rickety structure high in the branches.

"I found this a long time ago. I didn't know what it was, but there a things inside that I might understand better now."

He walked over to the base of the tree where rough ladder-like grooves had been cut into the huge trunk. He moved aside to let her climb first, wanting to be below her should she lose her footing. They made their way up to the little house, the tree was sturdy but still the climb was difficult. They came up through a hole in the floor and they were inside a small, dirty room that hardly resembled any liveable space. Nearly everything was torn apart or broken. A makeshift hammock dangled from one tattered rope, the torn and stained cloth lying trampled on the floor. There were bits of broken crates scattered around the room, perhaps at one time serving as tables or stools. There were muddy tracks everywhere; mostly from birds but also lots of primates, huge gorilla footprints and tiny monkey tracks. And just visible among all the other crisscrossing prints, were the distinct paw shapes of a big cat.

"What is this place?" Jane breathed, looking around the ransacked treehouse. "Who lived here?" She walked over to the one thing in the room that looked to be mostly in tact, a large chest with a metal fastening and lock that probably kept it from being busted open and the contents torn apart like everything else in the shack. She knelt to examine the keyhole, trying the latch. "We need to find the key," she said. She looked up and saw Tarzan crouching next to one of the overturned crates, looking around the small room with a solemn look.

"There were humans here," he said, "weren't there?" his voice was small and he looked around again at the broken and disheveled remains of these people's lives.

"I believe so," she replied, rising from beside the trunk, she also looked around. "Whoever they were, they didn't have much. They certainly weren't part of a safari. Definitely didn't have the necessary supplies… As though they weren't meant to be here," she was speaking quietly, mostly to herself, thinking aloud in fragments.

She then saw a little lump in the corner behind one of the broken crates. There was hardly any fabric or possessions left in the little hut. Everything having been stripped bare by curious primates, she assumed. But here, wedged under a broken floorboard, mostly hidden by the crate and out of sight in the very corner of the room, was a little leather pouch. She lifted the crate and tried to grab the pouch but it wouldn't budge.

"Tarzan," she looked over her shoulder at him. "Will you help me?" He came over to see what she was trying to do. He knelt down and pulled roughly on the broken floorboard, tearing it loose. Grabbing it, Jane sat back on her heels to examine the little purse. She pulled the drawstring to open it and turned it over into her hand. Tarzan sat beside her, as intrigued as she was. She found a spool of old, grimy thread, a case of rusty needles, a very small, dainty pocket knife, some other broken odds and ends and a small locket. Carefully putting the rest of the contents in her lap, she looked closer at the little tarnished locket. Turning it over she saw the initials J.C. She pushed on the clasp and, after prying for a moment with her nails, the locket opened.

"What is it?" Tarzan asked, incredibly curious about these humans that had apparently existed in this jungle not so far from where he grew up. He wondered why he'd never seen them, but it had obviously been a long time since they were here.

"It's a locket," Jane whispered, peering closely inside. "And I think it's yours." She turned it toward him to show him the miniatures inside. Tarzan carefully grasped it between his fingers, bringing the locket close to see the tiny pictures. On the left side there was a picture of a man and a woman sitting close to one another. The man wore a suit and a mustache but he was still the spitting image of Tarzan. The woman was in an elegant white lace gown and her hair had pearls nestled into the waves. Tarzan's breath caught as she looked from her face to the image on the other side of a tiny baby. The human infant was looking to the left and smiling as if happy at the sight of his parents.

"Who?" Tarzan said, but only got the one word out. He couldn't get the right words to come to mind. What did he want to say? How did he ask what he wanted to ask? How did he describe what he was feeling as he knelt in this beaten shack in the top of a tree in a jungle in Africa looking at pictures of a little human family that Jane said was his when he'd only just discovered what humans were a few months ago.

"It's all right," Jane assured him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll find out." She moved to put the other contents back into the leather pouch, pausing when she saw what she had missed before. Among the remnants of the tiny purse, was a key. She carefully placed the other items back into the bag and pulled the string. Then she got up and went back over to the trunk with the key in hand. Tarzan followed. She pushed the key into the rusted, weather worn lock and tried to turn. Like everything else it was old and didn't want to move at first. But carefully she turned harder and harder until the key turned and she heard a hard, reluctant click. She pushed the fastener out of the way and lifted the lid resting it against the wall, not trusting the hinges.

"It's a trunk," Jane explained, sensing Tarzan's question before he asked. "Like father and I have back at the village. It's where people keep their belongings when they're traveling." She looked inside the trunk and saw what was left of the family's worldly possessions. There was a thin, faded quilt that she could tell was once beautiful. Underneath the quilt were a few pairs of trousers and a petticoat. At the bottom of the trunk she found books. There were also a few candlesticks, a pocketwatch, some blue baby booties and a pearl necklace. She turned her attention to the books, knowing that they were their best chance of finding out something about the people who ended up here, in this wild and ruthless jungle with hardly any provisions or supplies. She picked up the first book. It was an informational text about the various teas of South India, the second was a novel by Jane Austen, the third detailed the parts of a ship and how to maintain large ocean vessels. The final three were journals.