Del stood at the stream's edge, his gaze fixed on his gore-covered arms. Blood and viscera clung past his elbows, and was splattered haphazardly across his torso like a macabre painting. He crouched, plunging his hands into the cold, fast-running water. The icy sting bit at his skin, but he didn’t flinch, scrubbing at the crimson stains until they began to swirl away in tendrils of red. It had been harder than he’d imagined—dragging that beast’s bulk, carving it open, and wrestling with its innards. The weight alone had been daunting, but the process had laid bare something more profound. He had never truly considered how his steak arrived on a plate.

This was different. Messier for sure, but also a lot more, real.

When his arms and body were clean, he splashed water over his face, letting the chill sharpen his senses before taking a few deep gulps. The metallic taste of iron lingered faintly on his tongue—a phantom of the blood that had slicked his hands moments before. Rising to his feet, he turned to survey his handiwork. The scene awaiting him wasn’t one of triumph but grim pragmatism.

‘Damn, Del,’ he thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips. ‘I can see why they call it butchery.’

Before him lay a chaotic heap of hacked and mangled meat—half-joints and slabs, barely recognisable to anyone with a proper understanding of butchery. Beside it, a pile of guts, steaming faintly in the cool afternoon air, gave off a pungent, tang that made his nose wrinkle. Misty seemed unbothered, happily gnawing on a piece of dark, mahogany-red organ meat—likely the liver, judging by its size. The tattered remnants of the boar’s skin were strewn nearby, shredded into three uneven strips with fleshy sides glistening. The Overmind had cheerfully notified him of a newfound skinning skill during the grim process. No such recognition had come for butchery, and as Del studied the mess, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he was surprised to have been given an acknowledgement for his attempt at skinning.

The skinning skill had come with strings attached—details on proper preparation and preservation if he wanted the hides to be usable. But that was a task for another day. For now, he was done.

“Right then, Misty,” he said aloud, the sound of his voice grounding him. “Finish up. We’ll grab the best bits and move on downstream before the night critters come out to claim this as their free dinner.”

He selected a slab of fatty belly, some ribs and a large haunch, wrapping them tightly in the least damaged section of hide. The feel of the slick, sticky material made his stomach churn, but he pushed the discomfort aside. After securing his gear and checking that nothing had been forgotten, he hefted the bundle and set off downstream, Misty padding beside him.

Roughly half an hour later, the pair came across a small, shallow cave nestled into the bank—a natural hollow just deep enough to provide some semblance of shelter. Del dropped his pack and meat bundle just inside the entrance, stretching his arms until his shoulders popped. The ache in his back throbbed in protest, but it was a dull companion now, and small potatoes compared to what he had endured in the recent past. He crouched and began gathering dry wood for a fire.

“Misty, go sniff around,” he said, waving her off. “See if there’s anything nasty lurking nearby.”

The cat gave a soft “Meep” in reply before disappearing into the dusk. Del watched her go, a faint smirk playing on his lips. At the entrance of the little cave, he cleared the ground with his boot, making a hollow in the dirt for his fire. He placed a flat, palm-sized stone beside it—a makeshift cooking surface if his memory of survival shows served him right.

‘Let’s see how much Bear Grylls really knows,’ he thought, chuckling softly.

Once the fire was crackling merrily, Del returned to the stream to fill his water bottle. He straightened after drinking, stretching until his spine gave a satisfying crack. The tension that had settled there earlier began to ease.

‘You know, Del,’ he mused, ‘this could be a lot worse.’

Back at the fire, he sliced a piece of fatty pork belly and laid it on the heated rock. As the meat sizzled, filling the air with the rich aroma of rendering fat, he considered his next steps.

‘Salt,’ he thought. ‘I need to find salt. Herbs, too. But salt first.’ A grin crept across his face as a ridiculous notion surfaced. ‘What’s the plan, Del? Lick every rock you come across until you find the right one?’

The thought was laughable, but it wasn’t as if he had a better idea. For now, the meal was enough.

The cave smelled of earth and old leaves, its farthest reaches piled with wind-blown grass that would serve as a makeshift bed. The firelight flickered warmly against the stone walls, holding back the encroaching darkness. Misty returned, nudging at his mind with an all-clear feeling that brought a wave of relief.

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“Alright, girl,” Del said, hacking off a morsel for her. “Dinner and bed sound good?”

The pair ate in companionable silence, the night settling around them like a thick, velvet curtain.

Del stirred as the faint glow of pre-dawn light began to seep into the sky, painting the horizon in pale shades of grey and lavender. He blinked groggily, the earthy scent of the cave mingling with the faint tang of lingering smoke from the fire. Its embers, banked the night before, pulsed weakly in the cool air. A shiver ran through him as he shrugged off the makeshift bed of leaves, the night’s chill still clinging to his skin.

He crouched by the fire, nudging a couple of dry branches into the embers and prodding them gently with a stick. The sparks flared, catching the wood with a soft crackle, and the warmth began to spread. A sigh of relief escaped him as he rubbed his hands together, basking in the growing heat.

At the back of the cave, Misty lay half-submerged in the scattered leaf litter, her tail flicking lazily. She cracked open one eye, fixing him with a look of vague disdain before promptly closing it again.

‘Too early for cats, obviously,’ Del thought, stifling a grumble.

He busied himself with breaking his fast, chewing through the last of the bread and cheese he’d stashed in his pack. The simple meal was dry but filling, and he chased it down with a few gulps of cool water from his flask. As he rose, the ache in his muscles reminded him of yesterday’s exertions, but it was dull, easily manageable. He stretched, feeling a satisfying series of pops along his spine, before nudging Misty awake.

“Come on, girl. Time to move.”

With an annoyed flick of her ears, Misty uncurled herself and padded to the cave’s entrance. Together, they set off downstream, the woods around them gradually coming to life in the dawn’s soft light.

The morning air was crisp and carried the damp, clean scent of earth and dew. Del’s boots crunched softly over the undergrowth, the rhythm punctuated by the chatter of birds hidden among the trees. High above, the canopy was dappled with fresh greens, the leaves whispering in the breeze. Insects buzzed faintly in the background, their droning blending with the occasional silver splash of fish breaking the river’s surface.

What had begun as a narrow, bubbling stream was now widening into a slow-flowing river. Its deep, rhythmic gurgle harmonised with the sounds of the forest, creating a symphony of nature that Del found strangely soothing.

He paused occasionally, his curiosity drawn to plants growing along the riverbank or sprouting in clusters beneath the trees. The air carried hints of wood sap and wildflowers, mingling with the loamy scent of damp earth. Some plants were vaguely familiar—sorrel with its arrow-shaped leaves, dandelions scattered like golden stars, and sage’s soft, silvery foliage.

‘These might make for a decent meal addition,’ he mused, carefully plucking a few leaves and tucking them into his bag.

Other plants were unfamiliar, their unusual shapes and colours catching his eye. One had slender silver petals that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Another sported dark green leaves veined with red, the contrast stark against the soil.

“Identify,” he murmured, focusing on the first plant.

Silverbloom: Medicinal plant. All parts are useful; the leaves and stems can be crushed and used in a poultice to encourage rapid healing of deep cuts and lacerations. The flowers, which give it its name, can be placed on the tongue to ease sore throats and coughs. The roots can be dried and ground to make a tea to fight infection and reduce fever.

Del raised an eyebrow, impressed, before turning his attention to the red-veined plant.

Bloodroot Fern: Medicinal plant. Named for the deep red veins running through its leaves. Soften the leaves in hot water. Use it to wrap a broken bone; acts as a temporary splint as it dries and accelerates bone healing.

A small notification flickered across his vision:

[Herbalism has increased slightly.]

‘Useful, if I can remember it all,’ Del thought, crouching to gather as much as he could carry. His efforts were clumsy—his fingers fumbling with the delicate stems and ruining more than he managed to collect—but he pressed on, feeling a growing sense of accomplishment with each successful harvest.

Misty roamed ahead, her sleek form weaving between the undergrowth like a shadow. Occasionally, she pounced, returning with a mouse clamped in her jaws or crouching by the river to swipe at an unwary fish. Del watched her with a faint smile, her movements so effortless compared to his own.

Del couldn’t help but smile at Misty’s antics, watching her stalk a hapless fish darting in the shallows. She was in her element out here, and her easy grace was a welcome distraction from the unease creeping through his mind. ‘Damn cat’s having the time of her life,’ he thought, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. He was glad he’d brought her along. ‘I’d be going mad by now if all I had to talk to was myself.’

The faint crunch of leaves made him glance up, and the smile faded as Misty froze mid-step. Her body sank to the ground, ears flattened, and a quiet hiss escaped her. Instinctively, Del stilled, his breath catching in his throat. His hand drifted to his bow, fumbling slightly as he unslung it and reached for an arrow. The familiar weight felt clumsy in his hands—a reminder of how little practice he’d had with the weapon.

‘Why didn’t I practise more?’ he berated himself silently, checking his grip. The bowstring felt taut beneath his fingers, and he took a steadying breath. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum.

Adjusting his belt to silence the clink of his sword and knives, Del crept forward, his movements awkward but quiet enough. Misty’s unwavering focus drew his attention to a small clearing up ahead. Squinting through the dappled light, he caught sight of a flickering fire. Three hunched figures sat around it, their coarse, greenish skin glistening faintly in the firelight. Goblins.

Del’s pulse quickened as he took in the scene. The creatures were engrossed in their chatter, their guttural voices grating against the peaceful backdrop of the woods. At their feet lay a rough burlap sack, jerking and writhing as if whatever was inside was desperately trying to escape.

‘What the hell is that?’ Del wondered, his grip tightening on the bow. Misty’s low growl vibrated through the air, a barely audible sound, but one that made goosebumps prickle his skin.