I’m in that languid state between waking and sleeping, and through closed eyelids, I can see dappled light coming through my curtains and feel a gentle breeze.

‘Must have left the window open,’ I muse. ‘I hope the damn cat didn’t go out.’

As I stretch, I move my arm, feel her soft fur, and hear her gentle snores. That’s a relief. I open my eyes.

“What the fuck!” I cry out, feeling a momentary panic.

Above me isn’t my ceiling but a roof of branches and leaves through which I can see an early dawn sky. I’m not on my bed; beneath me is a carpet of soft grass, and I can now feel the slight dampness from an early dew. Memories flood back: Menolly, Teach, the Overmind.

‘So not a dream then, Del,’ I think as my heart rate steadies. ‘Explains why the damn mattress felt lumpy, I guess.’

Sitting up, I look around. I’m in some sort of wooded clearing. I can hear birdsong and, in the distance, the sound of running water. The grass is dotted with flowers here and there. I was never good with plants—every houseplant I ever had died a slow, lonely death. The trees around me are tall, with thick trunks and large leaves filling their many branches. The place feels serene and smells of spring.

I feel eyes on me and look to my side. Misty, still curled up, looks up at me through lidded eyes.

“Hey, girl,” I say, reaching out to give her a little pet. She purrs, and I almost jump as I feel a small nudge against my mind. I reach for the thought instinctively, knowing it’s Misty.

I get the impression of hunger and a lazy desire for more nap time. I chuckle to myself. ‘Pretty much what I always imagined her priorities to be.’

Near my feet, I see a small pile of items. Getting up, I crouch beside them to look through what’s there.

On top of a knapsack is a bow and a quiver of arrows. They look pretty rough to my uneducated eye. Alongside them is a belt with one small and one large knife in leather scabbards. A coarse rope completes the pile.

Remembering some of my lessons, I look at the bow.

‘Status.’ Nothing happens. ‘Hmm, details, info, what is it?’

This is getting frustrating.

‘Dammit, Overmind, all I want to do is identify this damn bow!’

A screen flickers up.

Crude bow: A bow made by an amateur hand. Good for hunting small game as long as it doesn’t move too fast. Keep string dry or replace frequently.

‘I can see you and I are going to need to learn to work together better, Mr Big Brother,’ I grouse to myself. ‘Could have at least given me a manual.’ I pause at that thought and laugh out loud. ‘Really, Del? When was the last time you actually read a bloody manual?’

Now that I know how, I quickly go through the rest of the items in the pile.

Quiver: Can hold 20 arrows.

Arrow: Rough-made, with leaf tip and goose feather fletching. Range up to 20 yards. Accurate to 10.

Hunting knife: Rough steel, heavy hunting knife.

Skinning knife: Also good for shaving; try not to skin your face.

‘Bloody BB has a sense of humour at least.’ My lips quirk into a smile. ‘BB, hmph, good name for that Big Brother Overmind.’

I open the knapsack and go through its contents: a water bottle, and a bowl for Misty, which is nice. A loaf of bread, some cheese, and what looks like smoked sausage wrapped in greased paper. A couple of apples and a small pile of mixed seeds and nuts wrapped in a cloth. There’s also a leather strop, very similar to the one my barber used to keep his razors sharp, along with some feathers and half a dozen arrowheads. Finally, there’s a slightly rusty tin containing dry wood shavings and what looks like flint. The side of the tin has rough ridges running along it.

‘I guess that’s for fire-making 101 class.’

Looking at myself, I see I’m dressed differently as well.

‘Identify.’

Leather jerkin: Light armour. Gives minimal protection against slashing and piercing damage. Ineffective against concussive damage.

Leather breeches: Light armour. Gives minimal protection against slashing and piercing damage. Ineffective against concussive damage.

Basic boots: Light unarmoured footwear. Not too good if you stub your toe.

I’m also wearing a crude linen shirt, woollen socks, and something resembling rather itchy smalls to keep my undercarriage contained.

‘Right then, Del, better get the day started.’ I put most of the items away in the bag, hack off a lump of bread and cheese, and slice a few thin pieces of the sausage.

“Breakfast time, Misty—wakey-wakey, girl.” She looks at me suspiciously but eventually gets up and wanders over.

I pour some water into her bowl and place some cheese and meat beside it before tucking into my own morning fare. The bread is nutty and slightly sweet, pairing well with the meat and cheese. I finish it off with a few good gulps of water. Once she’s done, I grab Misty’s bowl and look around.

‘Time to get on with surviving, I guess.’ I scan the area once more to be sure I haven’t missed anything. Turning towards where I can hear running water, I head off, Misty following at her own pace.

‘I feel good.’ The thought hits me, almost with surprise. ‘I’m not aching. I’m yomping along, and my body isn’t screaming at me to sit down and swallow some pills.’ I smile broadly, feeling a definite spring in my step.

“What a glorious mor—” There’s a sudden thunk! as a shaft—what must be an arrow—sprouts from the tree beside me. I drop to the ground.

‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.’ Mentally slapping myself, I get a grip and carefully look around, pulling my own bow from my back.

I feel a nudge against my mind from Misty. Looking in the direction it came from, I see her perched on a tree branch, looking down. Below her, a small, rat-faced, green-skinned creature lurks.

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‘Identify’

Goblin Scout

Level: 1

Aggressive hunters and scavengers

Strengths: Dexterity, Stealthy.

Weaknesses: Being hit with pointy objects.

Attacks: Bow, short sword, dagger.

Skill: Hide in Shadows.

Lore: Usually found in small to medium-sized groups, often family-based. Known to be cowardly in nature; they prefer to run from a fight unless confident in having a distinct advantage.

Drawing my bow, I hold my breath, aim, and let it fly. I watch as the arrow wobbles through the air to land heroically in a bush several feet from the goblin.

‘C’mon, Del, you need to do better than that.’ I mutter to myself, heart pounding and palms sweaty. ‘What the hell do I do if I can’t hit him? I’m bloody sure he can hit me.’

The goblin returns fire, and I throw myself to the ground as one of its small arrows whistles through the space where my head just was. As I land, I hear a muffled crack. With a groan, I look down to see my bow, now snapped, lying in the dirt. ‘Perfect,’ I think. ‘Just perfect.’

A distinct feeling of pity—yes, pity—registers from Misty, and, looking up at her, I see her arch her back, bum in the air, giving a little wiggle before leaping from the tree onto the unsuspecting goblin below. Leaping to my feet, I pull out my knife and rush forward to help.

[Misty has performed a Pounce attack on goblin scout.] A voice rings in my head.

‘Does BB do commentary now?’

[Misty has caused critical damage to goblin scout.]

Arriving as Misty jumps off the goblin, I see its bloody back and neck, oozing red from multiple slashes. The creature groans and begins to push itself up from the ground. Without thinking, I plunge my knife into its back.

With a small, expelled breath, the goblin collapses back, lifeless, to the ground.

[You have killed goblin scout. Experience gained.]

Feeling a bit light-headed, I sit down, resting my back against the tree, head in my hands. Had I really just killed? I’ve never been a violent man—the most dangerous thing I’ve tackled was a wasp. I hear a strange sound and realise, with a start, it’s me. My cheeks are wet; I’m crying. Be it the comedown from a massive adrenaline rush or the knowledge that I’ve crossed some inviolate line, the result is the same. For the first time in my adult life, I feel my body shake as emotion-laden sobs rack through me.

After a while, I feel warm fur nuzzling against me, and a questioning thought nudges my mind.

“It’s okay, Misty.” I stroke her gently. “I’ll be okay; that just hit me harder than I thought. You did great, though, girl.” She rolls over and grapples my hand as I tickle her belly. “My little ginger ninja.” I smile, take a long, deep, shuddering breath, and wipe my eyes.

‘So survival’s not all sweet treats and roses,’ I realise. ‘Del, my old son, I think we’re going to find this more challenging than I imagined.’ I’m certain this won’t be the last time I have to defend myself, and it sure brings the “survive” part into perspective.

“What do you think we should do now?” I ask Misty.

She looks at me, then glances disdainfully at the goblin, wanders over to it, gives it a sniff, then turns her back and flicks a couple of paws’ worth of dirt at the body, just as she’d do with her litter box back home. I guess she feels the same way about this dead creature.

“Alright, I suppose we should clear up here and move on before scavengers come to gnaw on its bones.”

I step to the body and, grimacing, pull my knife free with a nauseating squelch, wiping it on the goblin's ragged shirt. Rolling the body over, I can’t help but mutter, ‘Damn, you’re one ugly little mofo.’ Its small beady eyes, now rolled to the back of its head, a hooked nose, and pointed, sharp little teeth set in a mouth far too large for its face.

With my own bow broken, I decide the goblin’s weapon might be useful and pick it up. I also take its quiver, a crude sword, and a small knife. A quick search reveals a pouch containing a few round copper tokens, likely currency. ‘Waste not, want not, Del. No different than digging for change down the back of the sofa.’ I feel dirty, like some grave robber, and it feels wrong, but it’s also survival, and not just mine.

‘I really don’t like this responsibility, the reason I’m here. If I think about it too much, it’s just too much. I wasn’t built for that kind of pressure.’

Just get on, do whatever I must, and ultimately—learn, grow, and survive.

I consider burying him but reject the idea, mostly because I don’t have a shovel, and also because... just because.

I return to my broken bow to see if it’s repairable and quickly see it’s not. But I do take the string. I don’t have any spares and have no idea when I might find more. As I start heading towards the sound of running water, I detour to retrieve my arrow from a bush, and a thought strikes me.

‘If Mr. Green was a scout, who was he scouting for?’

It’s possible he was just out hunting rabbits or whatever else goblins hunt, but I can’t assume that. If he was part of some other group, there might be more scouts around. And if he doesn’t make it back, someone might come looking for him.

I send out a thought to Misty, envisioning the stream we’re heading for and then imagining more little green men between us and it. I picture her scouting for the men. Misty looks at me for a moment, head tilted to one side, before sitting down, lifting a leg, and meticulously washing herself. When she’s done, she gives me a little meep, then disappears into the undergrowth, running ahead. I adjust my gear, hoping it won’t rattle, and, being as careful and quiet as I can, continue as the woods start to slope downhill.

As I move, I keep a mantra-like dialogue to myself.

‘Keep low, mind that twig, loose stone, careful Del. No tripping, pause, listen. Okay, carry on.’

I don’t know if it helps, but after about an hour, I reach the stream, my body screaming from the tension of creeping through the woods.

Misty sits on a rock by the stream, chewing on a fish. She gives me a quizzical look.

“I’m not as fast or as sneaky as you, so of course you got here faster,” I tell her indignantly. I go to the stream, splash refreshingly cold water on my face, then fill my bottle and take a long drink.

With a groan, I lie back on a flat slab of rock, putting my pack under my head. “Wake me if you hear or see anything, girl,” I say to her. “I’m going to see if a small nap helps ease this tension I’ve got going on.”

Misty gives me a short mewl of assent and then goes back to gnawing her fish as I close my eyes.