Morning dew sparkled on grass stems around their camp. Eleanor knelt, uncaring of the wet grass, and gathered strips of bark, laying them out in neat rows. She rubbed each piece between her fingers, testing flexibility.
"Too brittle," she muttered, tossing aside a dry strip. "What did Tunka say about using cedar bark? Or was it birch?" It was proving difficult to remember things she'd been taught so many years ago, especially when those things had been uninteresting to her at the time.
For the hundredth time that morning Eleanor wished she could go back to the gatherings of her youth and sit attentively at her Aunt's and Uncle's knees. She swore she would memorize every piece of wisdom they imparted.
It was hard to recall the content of those lessons now, when she'd wasted them giggling and whispering in the back of the group with her cousins.
She'd been so stupid. Eleanor took a calming breath and let the frustration with herself ebb away. She couldn't go back, but she could change from this moment forward. From now on she swore she would be thoughtful when her Elder's tried to teach her anything.
Eleanor and Puck had woken with the dawn's first rays. For Eleanor this marked quite the change from her life on Earth, as she'd always been prone to sleeping in. She was quickly learning that when you lived in the wild, your life revolved around the sun. You woke when the sun came up and you slept when the sun went down. It wasn't even a decision you made, it was just something your body did.
At least the physical labor was helping her sleep at night. Her body felt no need to toss and turn. Fatigue made a wonderful sandman to rule her slumber, and the very moment she laid down she dropped off into dreams, dead to the world around her.
"This one's soft!" Puck hovered over her shoulder, dragging fresh specimens twice his size.
"Perfect." Eleanor worked the damp bark between her hands.
She'd seen her mother do this countless times during demonstrations in the cultural heritage classes she taught. The fiber separated into thin strands that reminded her of the friendship bracelets she'd made at summer camp one year.
Today Eleanor and Puck were making shoes.
Well.
Shoes for Eleanor, at least. Puck had politely declined saying his feet did just fine in the air, thank you.
Eleanor had tried to be fair. She'd sat down with Puck and they'd listed all their physical needs on a joint checklist. It had taken all morning and was very difficult without any paper or pens. Mostly they'd talked and debated, trying their best to commit the items on their checklist to memory.
It was supposed to be a list of all the things they would need to survive. Not just vague things like "food" or "water", but all the specific, little things that wouldn't occur to a person until they desperately needed them.
Like shoes.
Eleanor had voted that they work on baskets first. The need to carry things was apparent after their first trip from the Oran bush back to their camp. Puck had vetoed that idea when she'd cut her already bruised feet on a jagged rock. She'd limped around until it had scabbed over, which Puck had found distressing.
So they were making shoes first.
It was still good practice as both involved weaving, something that Eleanor did remember how to do, thankfully. She'd sat in on hundreds of her mother's classes as a child.
Some of those classes were held for youth like her that were supposed to be carrying on tribal traditions, but most were for tourists who came to the reservation to learn about the C'ulquim. The art of basket-making was second nature to Eleanor, embedded so deeply in her hands' recollection that she approached the task with confidence.
Then her first attempt at weaving a sole fell apart as soon as she stood.
The second lasted three steps before unraveling.
"At least I'm not trying to make shoes like that Little House On the Prairie book. Laura had to stuff grass in hers." Eleanor grumbled morosely.
Puck returned with more of the bark she approved of, but he was also trailing a long, green plant behind him.
"What about this vine?"
"Good thinking." Eleanor wrapped the springy stems around her feet, wincing as they dug into her skin. "Too scratchy. But maybe..."
She layered soft bark beneath the vine, weaving them together like Mom had taught her. The third set held together but slipped off her heel.
She was getting closer and couldn't bear to scrap all the hard work she'd done.
She'd never really considered her life wasteful before. Her mother had taught her to be mindful of their planet's resources, bringing up Eleanor with deep reverence for the natural world around them.
Even so Eleanor had never really thought about how much ease and convenience went in to everything she used in her daily life. She was starting to understand the scope of survival, the tremendous amount of work it would require.
If they wanted anything, literally anything at all, they would be required to produce it themselves.
It was such a sobering thought that Eleanor gave another consideration to just following the river like Albstat had told them to. Perhaps she should go find other humans.
Could she and Puck really make this work?
But looking over at Puck as he zipped off to gather more bark, she comforted herself with the thought that they could always use that as a back-up plan. She couldn't forget how terrifying the men and their two talking monsters had been, nor the moment Puck had seen the red and white 'pokeball' and gone out of his mind with fear.
No. They'd stay and they'd figure things out on their own.
They needed to find a way back to Dad and to Earth. Even more than that, Eleanor refused to entertain any ideas that might end up separating her and Puck. They hadn't really talked about that first day in the forest, when she'd cradled him and promised to stay by his side.
They'd been surrounded in a swirling golden light, and ever since that day Eleanor couldn't help but feel like they shared a profound connection. Something in her rebelled at even the thought of leaving Puck's side.
They'd stay in the woods, no matter how hard the work was. She would only guide them back to humanity if they faced true danger.
So she leaned over the almost shoes in her lap and began the tedious process of unweaving the bits that didn't work, hoping to preserve the bits that did.
Eleanor's fingers worked quickly, muscle memory from countless craft projects guiding her movements. She wove the soft inner layer into a base, using the tougher vines as anchoring points that wrapped around her ankles.
"Try walking," Puck suggested, drifting alongside as she took careful steps.
They weren't pretty — nothing like her light-up Beauty and the Beast sneakers back home — but they worked. Eleanor bounced on her toes, grinning as the woven soles absorbed the impact.
"We did it," she whispered. Then, "We did it!" she shouted joyously.
"We did it!" "We did it!"
They cheered and danced around their little camp, drunk on their success.
The shoes held.
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Eleanor turned her attention to their makeshift shelter. The hollow log they'd been sleeping in was decent enough, but rain would eventually be a problem. How would they prepare for the first heavy rain?
Oh.
Wait.
Clay.
She could use clay to waterproof the top of the shelter, it might keep most of the moisture out. Clay was found on the banks of rivers, wasn't it? Eleanor thought that sounded right, but she wasn't entirely sure.
They would have to look for clay eventually to help with things like building a cooking oven or waterproofing a pot to carry water back to their campsite.
There was one thing they could do to improve the log that didn't involve clay, though.
"We need a door," she announced, watching Puck practice making silk strands between two twigs. His pink glow brightened at her words.
Their first attempt was laughably bad — a mat of leaves that fell apart as soon as Eleanor tried hanging it. The second, woven from grass stems, lasted until midnight when a light breeze scattered it.
"Back home we just... turned a handle and the door opened and closed." Eleanor picked through the remains of their failed project. "Never thought about how amazing that was."
Puck's silk got stronger each day as he practiced. His initial threads had been wispy things that dissolved in the morning dew, but now they held firm even in the dampness. His glow shifted to a deeper rose color as he worked, tiny face scrunched in concentration.
"Watch this!" He zipped back and forth, weaving a complex pattern between branches. The resulting curtain caught the sunlight like silver floss.
"It's beautiful!" Eleanor ran her fingers over the silken strands. "And way stronger than before."
"I've been practicing while you sleep." Puck's glow pulsed with pride. "I think I finally figured out how to make it last."
They spent the afternoon weaving Puck's silk with strips of bark and flexible vines, creating a door that was both sturdy and light. Eleanor showed him how to layer the materials for strength while he demonstrated how his silk could bind everything together.
"This is way better than sleeping with leaves blowing into our faces," Eleanor said as they hung their creation. The door was more of a curtain, hanging from the opening on wooden nails that Eleanor pounded into the soft wood with a flat rock. It wasn't very secure, but it was good at providing a barrier between them and the outside world while they slept.
Puck landed on her shoulder, his pink glow soft and steady.
"We make a good team."
"The best team," Eleanor agreed, admiring their handiwork.
She'd never appreciated something as simple as a door before, but this one meant more than any she'd ever owned, because they'd made it together.
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Eleanor's fingers trembled as she tried to bend another thorn into a curve. The fragile point snapped, adding to the growing pile of failures at her feet. The rush of the river behind her seemed to grow louder with each attempt.
"Maybe if we found longer thorns?" Puck suggested, hovering over a bramble bush. "Or we could try those curved tree branches?"
She wiped sweat from her forehead, leaving a smear of dirt. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly as she picked up a thin bone they'd scavenged from a rotting carcass in the woods. It splintered the moment she applied pressure and she tried not to cry. Bone was a precious resource and she had precious little of it.
"What about vines? We could twist them into loops!" Puck's enthusiasm only heightened her frustration.
The river's constant murmur pressed against her ears as she gathered more materials. Her movements became sharp, jerky. A piece of sharpened wood — too brittle. A curved stick — too thick. Each failure landed harder than the last.
"Oh! We could use my silk to make a net instead!" Puck's glow brightened with excitement. "Or maybe—"
"It won't work," Eleanor snapped, then immediately regretted her tone when Puck's light dimmed to a soft purple. She knew better ways to catch fish — had watched her uncles weave intricate baskets that they'd place in gentle streams. But that would mean...
Her hands shook as she picked up another thorn. The sound of rushing water seemed to fill her entire world.
"Sorry," she whispered to Puck. "I just... I need this to work."
She bent the thorn carefully, trying to ignore how the river's roar reminded her of that terrible day. The thorn snapped between her fingers.
The Oran bush had been picked clean after their first week in the woods, forcing them to forage farther from their campsite for food. Eleanor couldn't bear how much they were surviving on luck right now.
Luck that Puck had found the first bush.
Luck that the forest bushes were in the right season to bear fruit.
Luck that no other creatures had picked them clean first.
Luck, luck, luck.
They'd been able to beg favors off of some of the woodland creatures around them, but they discovered the hard way that most residents were terribly standoffish. The most common response from the other talking animals was that they would run, but a few frightening times the creatures displayed terrible, magical powers.
The afternoon a striped, red dog had breathed fire at them, Eleanor and Puck had run back to their campsite crying. They'd spent the entire rest of the day tucked inside their shelter, shivering with fright.
Eleanor was much more wary of strangers now.
Maybe that was how it had started for all the woodland creatures. Maybe that was why no one out here seemed to mingle with others that weren't their own kind.
It made finding food much harder when she couldn't follow through on her plan to just ask the creatures what was safe to eat. It had taken bribes and careful reconnaissance to identify two more fruits that were edible.
One had been called a Rawst berry, which neither Puck nor Eleanor enjoyed the taste of. They dutifully gathered them all the same because hunger can season any food to make it edible.
The other one was a berry which they hadn't been told the name for. Puck had named them "Poppers" for the way they exploded in your mouth when you chewed on them. They'd only ever found one bush of those and there hadn't been any left over to save for a second meal.
Eleanor and Puck were thriving on their diet of fresh berries, but the fruit didn't keep them full for very long. Beyond that, too much of their time was being consumed with foraging. Eleanor had started the week with grand plans of a well stocked tree house, and an abundance of tools. She'd imagined she'd even be working on furniture by the end of the week.
But the cold, hard reality was that food required so much time and effort that Eleanor and Puck had made almost no significant improvements to their lives.
She had shoes.
She had mended her clothes with Puck's threads.
She had a few weirdly shaped baskets.
They had a door, and a woven sleeping mat.
And they had hunger.
Eleanor was also keenly aware of the fact that they couldn't exist on a diet of berries alone. Eventually, they'd need meat and she didn't have the first clue on how to hunt animals. An even bigger barrier to finding meat was the fact that the animals in this forest could talk.
She could not eat Puck. And these talking animals were like him.
They spoke and had names and thought for themselves.
It would be murder to hunt one down for food; a gross sort of pseudo-cannibalism that she couldn't even begin to contemplate. The thought made her stomach rebel, made every inch of her fill with a fundamental sort of horror.
You don't eat people.
You are allowed to eat animals because they aren't people. Even then, the process of eating animals required gratitude, ceremony, and respect.
If their survival depended upon eating the talking beasts of the forest, Eleanor made the grim decision that they would follow the river and go find humans. She didn't want Puck or her to starve for lack of food, but they would not become murderers.
She would not allow it.
During their second week a bird at the river brought an answer to their dilemma.
Eleanor and Puck returned to the river daily despite their personal feelings about it, because they both needed water to survive. The first time thirst had driven them back to the water's edge, they'd taken one look at the muddy bank where she'd almost died, and silently agreed to find a different watering spot.
The river moved too swiftly right there, in any case. They'd never be safe trying to drink water from the white, foamy rapids.
They walked the bank of the river, traveling downstream until the rapids ended and the river widened into slower, calmer waters. Here they often traveled to drink and to wash things, though Eleanor couldn't bear to step more than ankle deep in the clear water before shivers racked her form and she retreated in primal fear.
This part of the river they'd come to call their 'washing spot', and they met some of the friendlier residents of the forest here. Strange creatures that seemed half plant, half beast, and other larger beings that didn't appear like creatures at all until they moved or talked; creatures made of metal or feather or wood or other things Eleanor couldn't identify.
The Forest World was a strange place indeed.
The washing spot was where they found clay and where they made a critical discovery — there were red fish in the water that couldn't talk.
Eleanor and Puck had gone to the washing spot at the end of one very muddy day, after spending their limited daylight digging out a hole that could be used as a regular bathroom for Eleanor.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Thinking back on her prudish need for Puck to not enter the bathroom at the empty house made her snort. Her precious 'human privacy' had met a swift end, in these woods. He'd seen her naked so many times now that it wasn't even something she noticed anymore. If her clothes got in the way of their chores, she'd disrobe and complete her task naked. One day she forgot to put her clothes back on for the whole afternoon and hadn't even noticed.
They lingered near the water's edge, scrubbing away grime and filth when a massive winged creature glided noiselessly across the river's surface. Feet and talons extended, it snapped something beneath the surface of the water with a splash, then lifted off, carrying away a bright red fish with long yellow whiskers.
The whole scene took seconds, a small explosion of movement that startled them both and ended almost as quickly as it began.
But the fish had said nothing.
Its eyes had rolled around in its head and it struggled in the manner of all fish, contorting its body this way and that, trying to wriggle free.
It hadn't talked.
They'd returned to the river at Eleanor's insistence and watched many hunts since then. The red fish never talked. They never pleaded or cried out, they never screamed or yelled or got angry or begged. They always behaved exactly as fish and nothing more.
There was meat in this river they could eat. Fish could be dried and preserved. Meat meant they could have protein.
This was a monumental discovery.
Puck had already mastered crafting robust silk cords and supplied their needed fishing line. Unfortunately, Eleanor was on her second day of trying to make fish hooks from scratch, and she was failing miserably.
Her first design saw her lashing two sharpened pieces of bone together in a sort of 'V' shape, but these broke apart in the water no matter how she secured them. She'd tried to carve a hook out of larger piece of bone, but without a proper knife to whittle one, they kept breaking apart.
Eleanor's fingers cramped around another thorn as the river's rush filled her ears. Each attempt felt more futile than the last, but she couldn't stop trying, not when their survival depended on it.
"What if we made a giant claw?" Puck swooped down, demonstrating with his tiny feet. "Like that bird had! We could grab the fish right out of the water!"
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out both the sound of water and Puck's well-meaning suggestions. Her hands trembled as she attempted to bend the thorn into shape.
"Or maybe we could build a slide!" Puck zipped around excitedly. "With my silk in a noose on one end, so when the fish went to ride on it, they'd be trapped!"
Snap. Another broken thorn. Eleanor's chest tightened.
"Oh! What about a really big leaf? We could scoop them up like—"
"Stop it!" Eleanor hurled the broken thorn into the dirt. "Just stop! None of that would work and you know it!" Her voice cracked. "We need hooks. Real hooks. And I can't— I can't—"
The words choked in her throat as Puck's pink glow faded to a deep, shocked violet. Her stomach twisted with instant regret as she watched him drift lower, wings barely moving.
She hadn't meant to yell. It wasn't his fault she couldn't figure this out. It wasn't his fault she was too scared to wade deeper into the water where the best fishing might be found.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching for him with shaking hands. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself."
"I don't understand why," he said miserably. "You're always thinking of all the solutions and I'm always too stupid to help. I don't know why you put up with me."
Eleanor's heart twisted inside her chest and she was on her knees, lifting Puck up to rub against her cheek before she'd even thought about it.
"No," she wept. "No, Puck, no, you're the furthest thing from stupid. Mom always said 'stupid' was a word for people that were unwilling to learn, and you've been the most incredible, brilliant learner I've ever met. It's me who's stupid."
"But you're the smartest person in the whole forest!"
Tears burned paths down both her cheeks and she hiccupped out a sob. Why was she putting her pride before such a selfless friend? Guilt wracked her frame and her shoulders tucked inward, slumping in defeat.
"I'm stupid because I'm not using all the knowledge I have on how to fish." Oh how it galled to say this.
Puck landed on her knee, putting a gentle foot against her hand in a gesture of comfort. She wiped her hand across her eyes and finally admitted the whole truth.
"My people probably hunted with fish hooks at some point, but that wasn't how they pulled food from the river. They wove wooden baskets. The fish would swim in the baskets and become trapped, and then the C'ulquim would come and collect the baskets once they were full. That's how they got fish meat."
"Oh, but that's great news! That sounds much easier than making these hooks," Puck said, gesturing at the remnants of all their failed attempts. "We know loads of ways to weave by now. We can have one made in—"
"No, Puck."
He paused, his confusion evident.
"…To place the baskets we'd have to go into the river. We'd have to go out into the water and sink them down with a weight, and then we'd have to go under the water to pull them back up."
A tense silence followed this admission.
"Eleanor," Puck trailed off, unable to say anything more, his entire body glowing an anxious yellow. "….Why don't we go back to camp. It's going to be dark soon."
Eleanor sniffled, nodding miserably, and together they left the river.
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Eleanor busied herself with the bone needle she'd been working on, scraping it against a rough stone with mechanical precision. Her movements grew increasingly erratic as the silence stretched between them.
Puck drifted near the entrance of their shelter, his glow shifting between deep blue and purple, casting wavering shadows on the walls. Each time Eleanor glanced his way, she'd quickly look back down at her work, her fingers trembling slightly.
"I—" she started, then pressed her lips together. The needle slipped, nearly cutting her finger.
Puck's antennae twitched at the sound of her voice, but he remained quiet, his light dimming further.
Eleanor set down the needle, picked it up again, set it down once more. Her hands couldn't seem to stay still. She opened her mouth twice before any sound came out.
"I'm scared of water," she whispered, so quietly it was almost lost in the evening breeze. Her shoulders hunched inward, making her look even smaller than usual.
Puck floated closer, his glow softening to a gentle lavender.
"I know."
"You... you do?"
"You shake when you have to get close to it. Even to drink."
"I almost... I..." Eleanor's lower lip trembled. Her fingers twisted in her lap. "The water was so cold and dark and I couldn't breathe and—" She hiccupped, tears gathering on her lashes. "I thought I was going to die."
"You don't have to go in the water, Eleanor." Puck landed softly on her shoulder, his warm pink glow wrapping around her like a tiny embrace. "We'll find another way."
Her whole body sagged with relief, and she turned her face toward her friend, tears falling. "You're not mad at me for being scared?"
"Never," Puck said simply. "We'll just find a different way to pull it off."
Eleanor went rigid as an idea flashed through her mind like lightning.
"Pull it off…" she murmured. "Pull…"
"Yes?" Puck's glow shifted to a curious pink.
"That's it!" Eleanor scrambled to her feet, nearly dislodging Puck from his perch. She dropped to her knees, grabbing a stick to draw in the dirt.
"The baskets have to go in the river, but what if we could put them there without ever touching the water? I can't reach the other side of the river, but you can! You can fly!" Eleanor's voice was manic as she sketched a tiny river, stick figure Eleanor on standing on one side and a comically oversized puck drawn hovering over the other.
"Why would we need to be on different sides of the river?"
"Pullies!" Eleanor was scribbling furiously as she talked, drawing a line from one friend's hands and connecting it all the way across the river to the friend on the other side. Once connected, she sketched a circle in the middle of the line and pointed to it, looking at Puck excitedly.
"Our problem is that we need the baskets to go in the middle of the river, but neither one of us can go into the water to do that. But if we put the baskets on a very long rope and we tied that rope in one very large loop that went all the way across the river, we could create a pulley for the baskets. Then all we would need to do is stand on one side and pull the rope and it would drag the basket out of the river for us."
"How would we make the basket go down under the water?" Puck zipped down to hover over the drawing of a basket, bouncing excitedly.
"We could put something heavy in it, so it won't float."
"Like rocks?"
"Yes, exactly!" Her stick scratched quick lines in the dirt. "And if we put a pole here, and another one there—"
"We could make it move!" Puck bounced in the air. "Like those funny curtain things in your father's house."
Eleanor nodded eagerly.
"A pulley system. Mom showed me how they work at the tribal center." She drew a circle. "The rope goes over this wheel thing—"
"I can help with the knots." Puck demonstrated by weaving a quick pattern with his silk. "See? Loop it through like this."
"Perfect! And we can anchor it to the trees. We can raise and lower it whenever we want, and never have to go in the water at all!"
They bent over their dirt diagram together, adding details and refining the design, their earlier tension forgotten in the excitement of creation.
Their planning wound down and gradually settled into a comfortable quiet. Eleanor gathered their tools, paying special care to find and stow the bone needle she had been working on, storing them safely in their log shelter. She paused at the entrance, looking up at the darkening sky.
Puck drifted beside her as she picked her way to their favorite stargazing spot — the mossy top of their fallen log home. Eleanor had hauled armfuls of dried moss up here and used a precious blanket of Puck's silk to create a cushioned seat. Her shoulders relaxed as she settled onto the weathered surface, and they gazed up into the darkening sky in companionable silence.
The first stars winked into view overhead. Puck's steady pink glow cast a gentle circle of warmth around them, making the darkness beyond feel less oppressive. Eleanor drew her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.
"Thank you," she whispered, not looking at him directly. "For understanding about the water."
Puck landed softly on her shoulder, his wings barely stirring her hair. His glow pulsed once, briefly brighter, before settling back to its gentle pink radiance.
They sat together, watching the stars emerge one by one. Eleanor's breathing fell into a slow, steady rhythm that matched the cricket songs whispering greetings to the moon and warnings about the night birds above. Her restless energy stilled into something peaceful.
When a cool breeze rustled through, Eleanor shifted slightly, creating a small windbreak with her body to shelter Puck. He responded by intensifying his glow just enough to warm her exposed arms.
The river continued its endless song in the distance, but here, in their small circle of pink light, Eleanor's tension about it had eased. She reached up with one finger to gently touch Puck's wing in a silent gesture of trust.
More stars appeared, filling the sky with their ancient light. Neither felt the need to name the constellations or break the comfortable silence that had settled between them. They simply existed together, two small beings under an infinite sky, sharing the peace they'd found in each other's presence.
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Eleanor laid out her collection of teeth and claws on a flat piece of bark the next morning, arranging them all by length and size. Each one told its own story —sharp incisors from small prey, curved claws worn smooth by time. She picked up a rounded tooth, testing its weight between her fingers.
Each one had been a coveted find. Bone was a precious commodity — it could cut through wood and other things with more ease than stone, but it was also something that Eleanor could fashion into tools on her own without the aid of any metal. The only problem was that she had precious little of it and no way to gain more.
She'd discovered various remains from past hunts scattered through the forest, proof that its wild inhabitants had no reservations about preying upon one another. It was from these lucky finds she'd been able to harvest any bone at all.
The half-finished wooden disk beside her bore the marks of previous failures. Deep grooves scored its surface where her tools had slipped. She'd already broken three attempts, the splintered remains scattered at her feet.
Her hands ached from carving. The bone knife's edge had gone dull, and her palm bore red marks from gripping it too tight.
"What if we tried a different kind of wood?" Puck hovered near her shoulder, his pink glow illuminating the fine details of her work.
"The problem isn't the wood." Eleanor shook her head, picking up a fresh piece. "It's getting the groove right." She traced the intended channel with her finger. "Too deep and it'll snap. Too shallow and the rope slips off."
She started carving again, slower this time. Wood shavings curled away from her blade, falling in pale ribbons. The steady scrape of bone against wood filled the air.
The fourth attempt cracked along a hidden grain line. Eleanor's shoulders slumped.
"You're getting closer." Puck landed on the bark beside her tools. "The groove was more even that time."
Eleanor picked up the broken pieces, running her thumb along the curved channel she'd carved. Something about the angle caught her attention. She reached for another tooth, this one sharper, more precise.
Starting fresh, she worked in smaller strokes. The new tooth allowed finer control, letting her shape the groove in layers rather than forcing it. Wood dust coated her fingers as she carefully deepened the channel, checking the depth with each pass.
Her arms trembled from holding the same position, but she kept going. The sound changed — a smoother whisper instead of rough scraping. When she tested the groove with a piece of vine, it held.
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A soft patter of rain drummed against the bark and leaves outside their shelter. Eleanor worked steadily at her new wheel, each piece fitting together with growing confidence. Three days of trial and error had taught her fingers the way wood wanted to bend, where it would break, how deep she could carve before hitting the grain.
Puck hovered nearby, his glow shifting from pink to a concentrated purple as he focused on creating another thread. His tiny form trembled with effort as he wove strands of silk between his legs.
"How long did that last one hold?" Eleanor tested the wheel's balance, making minute adjustments.
"Two notches." Puck's voice strained. "I'm trying something different this time."
The wheel turned smoothly in its groove. Eleanor had carved five identical disks now, each one better than the last. She threaded vine rope through the channel, testing the tension.
Puck's glow flickered between purple and sickly yellow as he pushed himself. Sweat beaded on his tiny form, his wings beating faster than usual. The thread between his legs shimmered with an odd iridescence.
Eleanor fitted the last pieces together, satisfaction warming her chest. The wheel stood proudly on its side, ready to be pounded by its stake into the side of a tree, forming the base of a proper pulley system. She looked up just as Puck's glow flared brilliant pink.
"I did it!" He zipped around the shelter, trailing his newly-created thread. "This one feels different!"
Eleanor held out her hand. The thread that landed across her palm had a different texture than his previous attempts.
"How did you change it?"
"I stopped thinking so hard about making it last longer." Puck landed beside the thread, his pink glow steady and bright. "Instead, I focused on being a good partner while I was creating it."
Eleanor blinked at him, nonplussed.
"You…what?"
"I thought very hard about how much you needed me to be a good partner. And of course that made it work much better."
"Of course…" Eleanor eyed him dubiously, unsure how to respond. It sounded like the kind of logic that Mom would have loved, but would've made Dad very upset.
She fumbled the knife in her hands, nearly dropping it. Puck kept weaving, oblivious to her shock.
Dad.
She hadn't thought about how to find Dad in… how long had they been out here? Maybe they should try and go back to the house now. Maybe it had been long enough that it was safe to try living there.
Eleanor had thought plenty of times about how useful a single cooking pot from that empty kitchen would be, or a knife from a forgotten drawer. There were any number of things in that house that had been carelessly abandoned, cast aside as junk. Things gathering dust that would utterly revolutionize their primitive lives here at their camp.
Eleanor picked up her project, shifting uneasily.
Dad might be coming back to the house to look for her. What if he missed her because she was out here in the woods, and she hadn't left him any messages or clues on how to find her?
She glanced over at Puck who was grunting with effort, glowing vibrant colors and whispering encouragements to himself about 'partnerly responsibilities'.
To get back to the house, they'd have to cross the river again…
Soon.
They'd go back to the house soon.
She picked up her dull blade and began to whittle once more.
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The thread between Eleanor's fingers caught the late afternoon light, shimmering with an inner luminescence that pulsed in time with Puck's own glow. Unlike his previous attempts that had been insubstantial and fleeting, this one felt alive.
"Look what happens when I stretch it!" Eleanor carefully pulled the ends. The thread didn't just stretch — it gleamed brighter, tiny sparkles dancing along its length like dewdrops in sunlight.
"That's because we're partners!" Puck zoomed excited circles around her head, his pink glow intensifying. "See how it glows just like me?"
Eleanor wrapped the thread around her finger, testing its strength. Where his previous threads had snapped under the slightest pressure, this one held firm. She could even pluck it like a guitar string, producing a musical hum that made Puck's antennae vibrate in response.
"It's perfect for the wheel." She carefully wound the thread onto the carved wooden disk. The groove she'd carved held it securely, the thread's glow highlighting the precise craftsmanship of her efforts.
"We did it together!" Puck landed on the wheel's edge, his tiny feet barely making an impression. "Your wheels and my thread — they're like us, working as a team!"
Eleanor spun the wheel gently, watching the glowing thread create patterns in the dimming light. The wood's surface, smooth from hours of careful carving, felt warm under her fingers. Each groove and channel represented countless failed attempts, but now...
"We really did it." She held up the finished wheel, admiring how the thread's glow illuminated the intricate woodwork. Her aching hands and Puck's exhausted but triumphant expression told the story of their work.
They carefully stored the wheel with its precious cargo of glowing thread in their shelter, both glowing with satisfaction but too tired for anything besides sleep.
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Eleanor's fingers traced each knot on the rope, her hands trembling slightly as she checked the connections for the fifth time. The woven container hung from Puck's glowing thread, swaying gently in the morning breeze. Her stomach growled, a harsh reminder of what was at stake.
"The basket feels secure." She tugged the rope, testing the strength of her square knots. The smooth fiber bit into her palms, familiar after countless hours of practice.
Puck hovered nearby, his usual pink glow replaced by a sickly yellow that matched Eleanor's churning anxiety.
"Are you sure about the depth?"
"No." Eleanor adjusted the counterweight stones they'd gathered. "But we have to try sometime. The bushes won't have berries forever."
The pulley wheel creaked as she began feeding out the main line. The basket glided smoothly over the water's surface, leaving ripples in its wake. Eleanor held her breath watching their creation move slowly deeper, until it slipped under the water and was lost from view. She continued tugging the line, marking how far it had traveled until it was almost past the halfway point of the river. The current pulled at the basket's bottom, but her careful knotwork seemed to be holding.
"It's not slipping," she whispered, more to herself than Puck.
Her fingers stayed wrapped around the guide rope, feeling every subtle movement through the fibers. The river's constant rushing filled her ears, almost drowning out her thundering heartbeat.
Puck flew higher, gaining a better vantage point until his worried glow bounced reflections all across the water's surface.
"The basket's holding too," he informed her from his spot higher up.
Eleanor nodded, unable to take her eyes off their contraption. After so many failed attempts — torn baskets, snapped ropes, broken knives — they desperately needed this to work. Her stomach cramped again, emphasizing the point with painful clarity.
It had been a day and a half since they'd found an Oran bush, having finally picked the last one clean. There wasn't any more guarantee of food, and the looming threat of starvation gnawed at them both.
The line jerked.
The basket was snagged on something beneath the churning water, some rock or branch beneath the surface she couldn't see. Eleanor's hands burned as the rope pulled taut.
"No, no, no." She yanked the line, but it held fast. The current pushed against their trap, threatening to tear apart days of careful work. Each tug only seemed to wedge it tighter.
Puck's glow flickered between anxious yellow and frustrated red as he darted over the water's surface.
"There's a rock formation. The basket's caught between two points," he called.
Eleanor's chest tightened as she stared at the frothing water. The only way to free their trap was to wade in and untangle it personally. The water was only waist deep here, her feet would be able to touch the bottom the whole time. Her legs turned to stone at the thought, memories flooding back — the blackness, the cold, the panic.
"Maybe if I pull harder?" Her voice cracked.
She wrapped the rope around her hands again, ignoring how they shook. The fiber bit deeper into her already raw skin.
Puck watched her face drain of color, his own glow shifting rapidly between concerned blue and alarmed yellow. He'd never seen her this afraid — not during the chase, not during their first night alone, not even when they'd faced hunger. This fear of water was different. Deeper.
The river's constant rush filled Eleanor's ears, drowning out everything else. Each splash against the rocks sent fresh waves of terror through her body. She could feel the current's strength from here, imagine how it would pull her under, trap her like their basket.
"Eleanor." Puck's voice barely registered through her spiral of fear. "Your hands are bleeding."
She looked down. Red streaks stained the rope where she'd gripped it too tight. The sight knocked some sense back into her, but the thought of entering that water still froze her in place.
Puck's color stabilized into a determined pink. He dove down with purpose.
Puck darted across the water's surface, his tiny form leaving a trail of pink sparkles in his wake. His usual gentle glow intensified until he blazed like a miniature star. Eleanor watched in awe as he positioned himself above the trapped basket.
A strand of silk shot from his thorax, thicker and brighter than anything she'd seen him produce before. The thread arced through the air like liquid moonlight, breaking the surface of the burbling river and wrapping around the submerged basket in a precise spiral. His wings hummed with effort as he continued to feed the intricate thread until it had multiplied twice in size, before it suddenly snapped fully taught.
Eleanor choked on a scream as the sudden tension jerked Puck down to the water. He stayed above, but just barely, his tiny feet skimming the white foam on the surface. He blazed with determination, fighting upwards with incredible strain until he was safely aloft once more.
Eleanor's grip on the main rope steadied as she realized his plan. This new thread was pulling the basket in the opposite direction of the rocks. If they were patient and worked together, they could shift the basket free.
Puck's glow pulsed with exertion as he worked, his tiny body trembling from the unprecedented demand on his abilities. The silk strands gleamed beneath the water's surface, forming a complex network that cradled their trapped equipment.
Eleanor felt the tension in her rope change. Following Puck's lead, she adjusted her grip and began pulling at a new angle. The basket lurched, then slowly lifted free of its rocky prison. Together they steered it, using the silk strands like guide rails to prevent it from snagging again.
The little fairy's light dimmed with exhaustion, but he maintained his position, adjusting threads with precise movements. Eleanor carefully maneuvered their creation back toward the middle of the river and released her hold on the line. Without the tension of her grip, the line sagged and the rock filled basket sank, until it came to rest gently near the bottom.
Puck's silk thread dissolved beneath him, melting away into motes of dancing light.
He drifted down to Eleanor's shoulder, his wings barely able to keep him aloft. His usual energetic hover had turned into an exhausted glide, but his pink glow remained steady and bright. Eleanor cupped her hands beneath him, offering a safe place to land.
"That was amazing." Her voice was soft with wonder. "I didn't know you could use your threads like that."
He settled into her palms, his tiny form radiating warmth.
"I didn't know I could either." His bell-like voice chimed with tired satisfaction. "But I saw how scared you were, and suddenly I just knew what to do."
Eleanor brought him close to her face, examining his drooping antennae and dimmed wings. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his pink glow pulsed with quiet pride. She recognized the same feeling in her own chest — not just relief at solving their food problem, but joy in how they'd done it together.
"Let's go home." She tucked him gently into the crook of her neck so that he could grip her shirt collar. It was one of his favorite places to rest. "The basket needs time to work anyway."
Their walk back to the shelter was slow, Eleanor's rope-burned hands and Puck's depleted energy forcing a gentler pace. The morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the path they'd worn between the river and their home.
"Tomorrow we'll check it," Puck mumbled from his perch, already half-asleep. "Maybe we'll have fish."
Eleanor smiled, feeling the weight of the day's victory in every tired step.
"We will."
She glanced back at the river, no longer seeing just the danger in its waters, but the promise of life it held too. Their basket waited beneath the surface, a hint of better days ahead.
The familiar sight of their shelter appeared through the trees, morning light catching on Puck's reinforced silk strands that secured their door. Eleanor's shoulders relaxed. They'd faced another challenge together and found a way forward. That was becoming their pattern, and it was one she thought she liked.