Chapter 8

My vision swam, the world blurring into a dark, dream-like haze. For a moment, it felt like I wasn’t even in my body anymore, floating in a void, numb and detached. Time seemed to slow down, my thoughts adrift like fragments of a forgotten memory.

I saw a face, but it was blurred and distant, hovering just out of reach. There was also the sight of a forest—but not this one. A different one. And a wooden lodge, its structure looked familiar, tugging at the edge of my mind. Then there was an arrow. And Blood. So much blood.

Wait...blood?

I jerked back to reality with a shock, almost as if ice water poured down my spine. My chest screamed for air, my lungs burning as I realized I was sinking—drowning.

The weight of the water pressed in on me, dragging me down into its depths. Panic set in, as sheer adrenaline surged through my veins. In a hurry, I kicked my legs, forcing my arms to move despite the numbing sensations, despite the crushing exhaustion.

This isn’t my end!

With every ounce of strength left in me, I fought against the water, swimming upwards, desperate to breach the surface. The world above seemed impossibly far away, but I pushed on, clawing my way through the water.

Until, finally—I broke the surface.

Immediately, I gasped for air, my lungs heaving as I coughed and sputtered about. The night air felt like fire in my throat, but I didn’t care. I was alive.

I forced myself to swim toward the shore, the edges of the lake pulling closer with every labored stroke. My arms were heavy, knees weak, each movement a battle, but eventually, I reached it—the muddy shoreline.

I fished my way out of the water, fingers digging into the soft earth, pulling myself onto solid ground. My body was trembling, the cold biting into my bones, but I couldn’t stop. Not now.

They must still be chasing, I know it!

I dragged myself forward, collapsing onto the wet ground for just a moment before forcing myself up. My legs wobbled beneath me, barely able to support my weight, but I staggered forward, stumbling through the forest like some wounded animal.

Everything hurt—my arm still throbbed, my head pounded from the fall, and my chest burned with each ragged breath. But I couldn’t stop. I leaned on trees, steadying myself as I swayed, my vision blurring with every step.

I fell hard, my knees hitting the dirt below, but I pushed myself up again, teeth clenched. I had to keep going.

Yet the world around me felt distant, the forest a dark, oppressive presence looming over my shoulders.

My hearing was drowned out in a constant whirring noise, disorienting me into oblivion, but I forced myself to move, stumbling forward through the undergrowth. I tripped over roots and rocks, catching myself just in time, leaning on anything I could find to stay upright.

Up ahead, through the haze, I saw it—an opening.

A narrow gap between two large boulders, covered in moss and just wide enough for me to squeeze through. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was enough.

A place to hide, to rest.

With the last bit of strength I had, I stumbled toward it, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. I squeezed through the opening, tucking myself into the tight space between the rocks. It wasn’t much, but it was safe. I collapsed onto the ground, my body shaking from exhaustion, my head spinning.

I could barely keep my eyes open. My body was screaming for rest, and despite the danger, despite everything, I couldn’t fight it anymore. I curled up in the small space letting my mind rest as I succumbed to the exhaustion.

..

“This...how...make...it.”

Fragmented words drifted through the fog of my mind like echoes from somewhere far away. I didn’t know whose voice it was. It didn’t matter.

My eyes, in this dream-like haze, were fixed on a wooden table in front of me. I seemed to be sitting in a small wooden structure, faintly familiar. On the table, a sharpened stick—a crude spear—lay across its surface. The voice spoke again, still fragmented.

“Sharpen...with...anything. Remember...always—”

But before the voice could finish, I was jolted awake by a cold sensation on my face. Something wet.

My eyes opened, groggy and confused, blinking in the dim light of dawn. Drip. There it was again. Another drop of liquid splashed onto my cheek.

It was moisture. Dew, seeping in from the ceiling of the cramped opening where I’d collapsed.

The early morning light filtered in weakly, casting pale rays through the cracks in the undergrowth, faintly illuminating my legs.

I tried to sit up, but immediately, pain surged through my body, sharp and unforgiving. Everything hurt. My muscles screamed in protest, and the moment I moved my arm, a wave of searing pain hit me. I winced, breathing through clenched teeth as my gaze dropped to the bolt still embedded in my flesh.

It has to come out.

The thought settled in like a cold, hard truth. The longer it stayed, the worse it could get, the more it would slow me down.

I shifted slowly, dragging myself toward the boulder. Each movement was pure agony, but I forced myself to go on, there was nothing I can do but grit through the pain. My back finally hit the cold, solid surface of the rock.

I needed something—anything—to stop the bleeding once the bolt was out.

My eyes dropped to the tattered, worn-out fabric of my pants. They were ruined anyway. With shaking hands, I grabbed the edge and ripped a long strip of fabric free. The noise of it tearing felt like a distant echo as I stared down at the bolt in my arm. My hand was trembling, but I had no choice.

You have to do this.

I gripped the wooden shaft of the bolt, my fingers clamping down despite how much they wanted to release it. I took a deep breath, trying to steel myself for what I was about to do.

And then I pulled.

The pain was immediate, white-hot, ripping through every nerve in my body. My mouth opened, but no scream came out—just a sharp, shaky exhale. I wouldn’t let myself scream. I couldn’t.

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The bolt slid out of my arm, slow and agonizing, the wood dragging through the torn flesh with a sickening pull.

Blood welled up immediately, dark and thick. My vision blurred for a moment, spots dancing in front of my eyes, but I forced myself to focus.

The fabric—wrap it now.

With my one good hand, I quickly wound the torn strip of fabric around the wound, binding it tightly to stem the bleeding. The pain was still there, pulsing through me with every heartbeat, but I pushed it to the back of my mind.

I pocketed the bloodied bolt, its weight a reminder of the close brush with death, before crawling cautiously toward the narrow opening.

I peered through the gap in the boulders, my eyes scanning the forest beyond. For a while, I just waited, breath held, listening for any sign of the lizard-like creatures that had hunted me earlier. But there was nothing. Only the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.

Clear.

With a sigh of relief, I forced myself out from the cramped space. My body protested with every step, muscles burning, but I pushed through, emerging into the open air once more. The forest stretched out around me, peaceful in its deceptive calm.

The trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their long branches casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The fresh scent of pine was thick in the air, intoxicating almost, but I couldn’t allow myself to relax. The tranquility was a facade, that much was certain.

I let my gaze drift over the trees as I replayed that dream in my mind. That wooden table. The spear lying on it. The voice.

Yes. That’s what I needed. A weapon.

I scanned the forest floor, searching for anything that could serve my purpose. My eyes landed on a thick, straight branch lying not far from the boulder. It looked sturdy enough, the kind of wood that could be fashioned into something useful.

I stumbled over to it, my legs still shaky but holding me up. The branch was solid but imperfect. Little shoots of twigs stuck out from its sides, and the tip was blunt, utterly useless for anything but swatting at the air.

“Sharpen with anything,” the voice echoed in my head again.

My hand reached down to the forest floor, and there it was—a jagged, rough-looking stone, sitting half-buried in the dirt. I crouched down slowly, wincing as my muscles screamed in protest, and picked it up. The stone felt gritty in my hand, its surface uneven and worn by time, but sharp enough to do the job.

I looked back at the boulder, my temporary shelter, and decided it was safer to retreat inside before beginning this task. With the stone and branch in hand, I returned to the narrow gap between the rocks and slipped back inside, hiding once more from the world. The air was still cool in the shadows, a stark contrast to the bright warmth outside.

Settling in, I braced the branch against my knees, gripping the stone tightly in my hand. My fingers trembled slightly from exhaustion, but I couldn’t afford to stop. I pressed the edge of the stone against the wood and began scraping, chipping away at the soft bark. Small pieces of wood fell to the ground as I worked, methodically shaping the branch into a spear.

Soon the spear finally took shape as I felt the slight sense of accomplishment, but it was fleeting.

My throat was dry, parched from the earlier events. Hunger gnawed at me, a hollow, growing ache deep in my stomach.

I glanced up at the small opening above, where droplets of water dripped down steadily from the ceiling. I stood, leaning forward to catch a few of the drips on my tongue, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

The lake....fresh water for the taking.

I thought back to the vast body of water I had plunged into, knowing full well it could be dangerous to return. But what other choice did I have? I couldn’t stay here, dehydrating and starving slowly.

Clenching my spear, I pushed myself out of the small crevice between the boulders and started to retrace my steps as best I could. Each step felt heavy, my body still weak, but I kept my movements deliberate, staying low and listening carefully to every sound.

The forest beyond was eerily silent at times, the wind occasionally rustling the leaves above. Yet I made sure to keep myself hidden behind the trees, moving with quiet, calculated precision, constantly attuned to the shifting sounds around me.

Before long, the familiar rush of the waterfall reached my ears. I slowed down, the noise reminding me just how close I was to the lake. But then I stopped dead in my tracks, spotting them almost immediately—two of those lizard-like creatures.

Panic arose as I ducked behind a nearby bush, keeping my breathing shallow. The creatures were near the water, sifting through the surroundings, their elongated snouts twitching as they picked through the underbrush, searching for something.

Are they looking for me?

My mind racing through all sorts of scenarios. I couldn’t take both of them, not in this state, not with just a hastily carved spear. My first thought was to retreat, to slip away before they noticed me.

But just as I shifted my weight to move, one of them began walking in the direction of the forest, heading straight toward where I was hiding.

Don’t tell me...

My grip on the spear tightened, fingers digging into the rough wood as I pressed myself lower into the bush, praying it wouldn’t notice me.

The creature passed by me slowly, each of its steps deliberate, sniffing at the air as it lumbered into the deeper parts of the forest. I didn’t move, not even a breath, until it was far enough ahead.

Thankfully, It hadn’t noticed me. Relief washed over me for mere moments, but then my eyes flicked back to the lone creature left by the lake.

One at the lake, one in the forest.

I had a choice to make, and my mind moved rapidly through the options. The one by the water was distracted, but it was out in the open.

There could be more.

I made my decision quickly. The one in the forest—it was alone. And if I followed it, I could strike quietly.

I rose silently, spear clutched tightly in my hand, and began to stalk the creature as it moved further into the trees. I made sure that each step was measured and slow, keeping my body low as I followed at a safe distance.

The creature seemed focused on the ground, picking up sticks as it went, collecting them in its small, scaly hands. Its behavior confused me—it wasn’t hunting. I wasn’t sure what it was doing, but it wasn’t paying attention to its surroundings, not yet.

I crept closer, studying its every movement. Each time it bent down to gather more sticks, I moved a little closer, readying myself.

A chance!

I didn’t hesitate. The moment I saw the creature hunched over, I acted.

With a swift leap forward, I thrust the spear with all my weight, the sharpened tip aimed directly at its exposed back. The weapon struck true, piercing through its hide with a sickening, fleshy sound.

The creature let out a sharp, guttural scream, more of surprise than of pain. Its body jerked violently from the shock, but I didn’t stop. Driven by raw survival, I kicked the lizard-like monster to the ground with a heavy thud, the spear still embedded in its back. Its limbs flailed weakly, trying to reach for something, but I was already upon it.

I ripped the spear out and brought it down again, and again, each strike more brutal than the last. The wet sound of the spear penetrating its body echoed through the quiet forest, the warm splatter of blood speckling my face.

The creature’s final cries were drowned out by the trees, replaced by my labored breathing as I stabbed it one last time, its movements now nothing but spasms.

I stood over the body, my chest heaving, sweat mixing with the blood that now stained my hands and arms. My breath came in ragged bursts, but I knew better than to let my guard down. There was no time for hesitation or fear. There could be more of them.

I needed to move, but first, I knelt beside the corpse and searched it quickly. My hands rifled through its primitive clothing until I found a small pouch fastened to its waist. Inside were dried herbs, some I recognized as healing plants, others unfamiliar.

I took them, tucking the pouch into my own makeshift belt. My eyes then fell on the creature’s weapon—a small, primitive stone axe. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. I grabbed it, the weight in my hand feeling awkward, but it would serve its purpose.

I spared one last glance at the dead creature, its lifeless eyes staring into the dirt, and I turned back toward the lake. I retraced my steps cautiously, spear in hand, moving through the underbrush as quietly as I could. The wind rustled the trees, and the sound of running water grew louder as I neared the clearing. I crouched behind the same bush as before, peering out at the lake.

The lone creature was still there, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened. Its focus was now on the water, jabbing its crude spear into the lake, fishing.

A single dead fish lay on the ground beside it, pierced through the gills by the creature’s weapon. My heart pounded in my chest as I crept closer, staying low and silent, each step deliberate.

But just as I neared, barely a few feet away, the creature turned. Its glowing eyes locked onto mine, narrowing in surprise. My muscles tensed, and for a split second, we both froze, sizing each other up.

But I was already prepared.

With a swift lunge, I thrust my spear forward, aiming for its neck. The creature let out a strangled sound, too slow to react as the sharp point drove into its throat. Blood spurted from the wound, coating my hands as I pushed the spear deeper, silencing its final gasp. Its eyes widened in shock, and then it collapsed, limp and lifeless at my feet.

I stabbed it again and again.