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Snoring, like many things humans do unconsciously, is not evolutionarily efficient. I mean come on! It's basically a siren announcing when you're at your most vulnerable. That’s why, when a large chubby man snoring in the middle of the forest was found, the denizens of the forest were quite confused.

Was it a trap?

Was a predator lying in wait?

No, Bob was just sleeping.

Very, very loudly.

But don't worry, when he wakes up I doubt he will be comfortable enough to sleep so soundly for quite a while. You see, Bob is not supposed to be here. He is supposed to be at his home, 300 years and a dimension away. But I had other plans, I have… ambitions for Bob. even if he doesn't have any for himself, because in this new world he is in, he will have to grow, or die.

Oh, look! He is waking up. Well I'll not bother you anymore. After all, you will be most entertained by these next few days.

Bob Wakes Up, Not In His Bed

A snore, previously loud and demanding, cuts off and peters into a mumble. The large man sleeping in the forest rolls over and reaches for a non-existent blanket, hoping to warm  himself from the wind. Ah, the wind is not supposed to be in my bedroom. He opens his eyes and sees a clear blue sky, small clouds meandering past his view. Bob sits there for a while, thinking of all the possibilities, a dream? No, too real. A prank? No, Bob didn't have anyone who cared enough to drag him out of his apartment and out of the city, only to just leave him in the middle of nowhere.

No, Bob had absolutely no idea where he was, why he was there, or how he had arrived. He decided the first step was to sit up and look around, a daunting challenge. As he lifted his body upright and let his eyes roam over his new nightmare, he realized it was worse than he thought. He was surrounded by oak trees, he thought. This was a problem because he lived in Canada, in a forest. A pine forest. A very, very big one. This is not good. Bob looked down at himself, clad in plaid pajamas, and nothing else. 

Bob stood up, his feet sinking into the wet grass slightly, and turned in a circle. In this forest which was not where Bob was supposed to be, he resided in a small circle of trees, his only barrier to the unknown. He looked in the sky, hoping to see smoke or smog, some kind of sign saying “Look here! Civilization!” Sadly, there was nothing, just pure deep blue. Bob looked at the ground, grass with fresh dew on their blades. It was morning.

Bob could not see the sun yet as the trees around were too tall, he walked up to one, and looked for a way to scale it. He reached out with a long arm and grabbed a thick limb, then with great difficulty he pulled himself up so his foot could catch a knot in the wood, where he pushed off to reach another branch. This way he scaled the tree, slowly and steadily, until he reached a point where he could see the sun.

It was at this point, Bob freaked out. The sun was not his sun. it was different.

Granted it was yellow, and about the right size. But it was wrong. In some deeply disturbing, indescribable sense, it was not his sun. Bobs now clammy hands gripped the branch so tight his knuckles turned white, his breath swallowed, and his face paled. All the things, up till now were within his sphere of understanding. But this false sun, this Pretender. It was the world shaking in the smallest of ways. But it was enough.

Bob smartly decided that he was not in a good state to climb down the tree, so he sat on the most comfortable, and sturdiest limb and waited. His heart, pounding in his chest, in his ears and eyes. He couldn't hear anything, but his roaring heart. His breath, clawing itself through his throat, over and over again, faster than his heart, faster than he could control. He leaned his head back against the tree, and thought of what he liked about trees. They were sturdy, they were strong, they had so much life in them. Animals lived in them and rested beneath them. Their acorns fed them, and their roots sheltered them. They were the quintessential home, they were the first, and they will surely be the last.

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Bob's thoughts drew him away from his panic, and his heart silenced its complaints, his breath calmed and deepened. He opened his eyes, which had closed subconsciously and realized time had passed, the pretender had moved slightly. His original plan had been to follow it east, but now, he didn't know if it was even the same direction. He had to face facts, this was not his home, this was not Earth. Other ramifications could wait, this one revelation would be enough. He slowly lowered himself from branch to branch, until his foot reached the ground. He stood up on solid ground and started in the direction of the pretender.

One hour later

Bob was not alone, he had realized it around ten minutes ago when he saw a shape dart past his periphery. He had heard it too, soft footfalls almost imperceptible. He glanced back every once in a while, trying to catch a glimpse, and all he got was an impression of fur and yellow eyes. His head ran through the possibilities, a wolf? No, there was only one. It could be alone and hungry? It would have attacked by now, if it was so hungry. His mind went to animals, stealthy and furry, who were confident enough to hunt a human. A mountain lion. It clicked, if felt as if the size were right and the eyes seemed right too. One thing he knew about mountain lions, a fact he did not enjoy, was that they could climb trees. Fuck. 

As he walked he looked around, hoping for a branch or a rock, something, anything. He heard it then, a leaf crinkled by the cat. He stuttered his step, just a bit. And he knew it. They understood each other at that moment, and the cat charged. 

He darted right, sharp and around a tree. The cat skidded past, a low growl emanating from its jowls.

He bolted, fast as he could. But Bob was not a runner, he hiked, but he could not run.

And that's what saved him.

The cat caught up instantly, and it pounced. There was no chance. There was no hope.

Then Bob tripped and fell, rolling down an unseen hill.

The cat, previously so confident, soared over his head. A yowl tore itself from the cat as it hit a tree, then rolled down the hill with Bob. 

They tumbled, now forgetting their conflict as the hill and gravity conspired against them. They rolled and crashed, hitting roots and rocks. Bob caught his foot on a sharp stick and a gash opened up along his heel. The cat hit its face on a rock and its teeth flew. Hisses and shouts echoed through the forest as two apex predators found themselves assailed by the ground itself. Then they reached the bottom and rolled to a stop.

Silence, only broken by groaning and panting, surrounded the pair. Then they looked at each other, and froze. The cat darted back, blood dripping from its mouth. Bob crawled backwards, his foot dragging. They sat like that, for what seemed like forever. Then, the cat hissed and walked away. Limping and growling. Bob sighed, and sagged in relief. He looked around. What had previously been a lush forest was now a craggly one. The ground was rocks and roots, with a smattering of dirt, and the trees were taller and more sparse.

He stood, or tried to, and leaned against a tree. He lifted his foot to look at it and winced. The calloused heel had been torn and was now oozing blood, he was not going anywhere anytime soon. He took off his shirt and ripped a strip off the bottom, then wiping away as much of the blood and dirt as he could, he wrapped around his heel. It would do, but he would not be walking on it. He looked up and saw the pretender in the middle of the sky. It was noon, he thought. It seemed… soon. Maybe it was the events of today, or maybe it was the pretenders foreign schedule. Either way, it was time for shelter.

He hobbled to another tree and realized that the hill did not end, it merely paused in its descent. He was on a ridge and below him, a river Raged through a valley. Surrounded by rocks and riptides. He thought about getting some water to drink, then thought better of it on closer examination. He could follow the ridge though. He looked the way the cat had gone, drops of blood created a trail leading along the ridge. He turned around and hobbled the other way. It may not bite him anymore, but it still had claws, and he had nothing. 

He wandered along the ridge, the trees disappearing slowly as the rocks grew more frequent, the ridge became a cliff and the valley became a canyon. His steps grew more painful and he grew weary, then a gift appeared. A long sturdy branch, fallen from the trees above, had landed in the middle of his path. He smiled for the first time today and picked it up. He had found a walking stick, and maybe a weapon. He leaned against it and found the pressure on his foot alleviated. His steps grew faster and happier. 

???

This stick may seem insignificant, but to Bob… it was something. Right now that was all Bob was looking for. 

But don't worry, I will make him want more.