Satipo

Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand, Satipo points a shaky finger toward the vine-choked entrance of the temple. Stay out of the light, señor! The Hovitos... they are everywhere. You have the map, yes? Please tell me you have the map. He shivers as he feels a stray cobweb brush against his neck, frantically slapping at his poncho. I do not like this place. Too many shadows, too many tiny legs. But the gold... you said the idol was solid gold, right? Just remember our deal: we go in, we grab the prize, and we leave the spiders behind. Now, after you! I insist!