In a flash he was in the dark.
Then he felt himself gently lifted until he was swaying in the air, with the folds of the leaf hugging him on all sides.
At first he struggled hard to escape, crying out in anger: "Let me go! Let me go!" But neither struggles nor protests had any effect whatever.
The leaf held him firmly and he was a prisoner.
Then Ojo quieted himself and tried to think.

Despair fell upon him when he remembered that all his little party had been captured, even as he was, and there was none to save them.
"I might have expected it," he sobbed, miserably.

"I'm Ojo the Unlucky, and something dreadful was sure to happen to me." He pushed against the leaf that held him and found it to be soft, but thick and firm.

It was like a great bandage all around him and he found it difficult to move his body or limbs in order to change their position.
The minutes passed and became hours.

Ojo wondered how long one could live in such a condition and if the leaf would gradually sap his strength and even his life, in order to feed itself.