Cold.

Cramped.

Pain.

He blocked it all out.

The first day. The second. The third. He had only taken the first step. Yet, somehow, fatigue seeped into his bones.

It hurts...

Pain was Daire.

The claw mark on his arm throbbed—stained gauze.

In part, he was glad his arm was in so much pain. It took his mind off the other aches.

Daire languidly stretched, joints popping. His hip made a weird creaking sound.

That can't be good, can it?

Underneath the throbbing of his arm, his hands and feet were scratched. Barefoot during the wolf fight. Trying to grip a spear that wasn't manufactured or smooth. There were several splinters and scratches from trying to carve weapons and skewers.

Not to mention Daire was struck by lightning.

Violet crashed into the soft part right below his sternum. Despite weighing so little, the impact was that of a car going 40mph.

Daire's nails were dirty and torn, body doused in filth and mud from head to toe, his workout shirt was clinging him sloppily, and his hair was frizzled and tangled. Daire's rear was sore for reasons he didn't want to recall.

There was an expectation of aches and pains. Of the hardship that comes with living in the wild while being completely unskilled and untrained in survival. He'd planned best he could, but there was no compensating for lack of experience.

Daire already had enough of living outside.

There were plans to practice more magic today, but Daire needed to fix himself.

Rising like the dead, Daire started his day by throwing off all his clothes.

=

Daire plodded in the brisk air feeling the wind travel places it didn't usually traverse. Shivering, Daire submerged himself into the pond. Flinching when the water reached his wound.

Hissing in pain, Daire slowly descended further, the cold water reaching his neck. As he rubbed his body, he could see the dirt and grime dispersing around him, turning the water a shade darker.

Daire needed this.

He ignored his wound, focusing on washing his body down. The bar of soap rigorously scrubbing away layers. Lathering shampoo until his immediate vicinity resembled a bubble bath.

Using a knife, he cut the dead and frayed hair. Dipping his head in the water, he stayed submerged while untying knots. By the end of the long and arduous process, Daire was shivering from the cold.

High-legging onto the edge of the bank, his feet still submerged, Daire wiped himself down with a small towel.

Next came the wound. Daire reached over to the medical supplies he prepared. The medkit contained bandages, wipes, gauze, suture and thread, a tiny bottle of alcohol, cotton balls, and an ammonia inhalant.

Daire grabbed one of the wipes to clean the dry blood still sticking to his skin. Next, he grabbed the tiny alcohol bottle.

Hissing in pain, Daire gritted his teeth. This is what he got for neglecting proper care.

Panting, he looked at the suture and needle.

I really don't want to do this.

At least it wasn't a wild dog bite... Oh, wait.

He wasn't a little girl; he could definitely do this.

Three cuts ran diagonally from the outside of his bicep inward. The middle one was the worst. He could probably get away with six stitches if he were liberal. The outer needed four while he could use three on the inner one.

Daire briefly thought of just leaving it be. Or cauterizing it with fire. He could learn healing magic! Better yet, just chop the entire thing off.

*sigh*

Picking up a thick stick, he gagged himself. Locking his hand in place under his ass, he used his other to pick up the needle and thread. Starting, no backing out.

Aiming, he pieced his flesh, eyes rolling back in his head.

Hurriedly he pushed it through, blood squirting.

Daire was lightheaded and starting to sweat, staring in disbelief at his minuscule success.

Without delay, he pierced a little higher.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

A muffled scream later, he punctured higher.

Panting, he skewered yet another stitch.

The fifth and sixth stitches hurt just as much.

He tied it all together and ripped the thread, finishing his work.

Fresh crimson blood trickled down his arm, dripping onto the grass like morning dew in a macabre fashion.

Daire questioned his sanity. Wondering if this was a form of self-care or self-mutilation. He wasn't a doctor, neither self-proclaimed nor certified. The entirety of his medical knowledge stemmed from Hollywood acts, video games, words written in fictional books, and Cells at Work.

He couldn't be considered sane for attempting this. But he had no one else.

Daire still had two more cuts to close.

Going for the outer cut, he chomped down hard on the piece of distasteful wood.

One, two, and three went fine.

On the last stitch, he stabbed missed. Stabbing himself.

It wasn't bad. It just made him jump, creating tension on the thread.

Taking several moments to calm down, his focus intensified to a point finer than a needle.

Daire thrust through flesh to create the final stitch.

Lightheaded, Daire closed the wound.

More blood dripped down his arm, creating a small scarlet puddle in the dirt. Running off into nearby water.

Daire didn't remember stitching his last wound. He was lying on the ground face up—the stick hanging out of his mouth. Panting, sweating, chest pumping, and hearing nothing but the pulse of his own indignant heart.

Sweat and blood mingled together, pooling the inside of his elbow. His uninjured arm laid out to the side, the needle and thread nowhere to be found.

Sitting up, Daire grabbed the soggy towel and tenderly cleaned his arm, avoiding the stitchwork.

Violently chucking it away, Daire grabbed the gauze and rewrapped his arm.

It's over... It's finally over...

Finishing treatment... Daire walked his nude ass back to camp.

=

Violet's head hit the hard earth.

Sitting back up, the first thing she noticed was the sun already high in the sky. Off to her right, Night walked away after sitting still for twelve straight hours. It was a miracle the canine didn't leave earlier.

Violet loved sleeping in Night's soft fur and would love to do it again. Her normal bed wasn't nearly as comfortable.

It was then she noticed the cloth draped over her.

It was a warm white fabric soft to the touch, about the same consistency as Night's fur, smoother. There was an embroidered "D.K." in red stitching.

Violet's second thought was that this item belonged to Daire.

Snuggling deeper in the blanket, she enjoyed the soft properties. Begrudgingly getting up after a few minutes, she hefted the blanket back up to her own home. Violet threw all the leaves off her bed, dusted off the bark, and laid the cool comfort cloth along the bed.

Hands-on hips, nodding, Violet turned to look in her mirror—a glass shard from molten sand.

Violet frowned before she even finished turning.

Her hair was down, frizzled, frazzled, and poking in unnatural directions. Fortunately, there was no more charcoal covering her as it burned up during her experiment. Unfortunately, her dress was now burnt up.

Violet turned red.

The dress was created from a combination of yellow and green leaves glued together using a natural paste. The pattern mixed and flowed brilliantly, creating a unique floral pattern.

A floral pattern. Made of leaves.

It was genius!

Now it was ruined. The colors no longer shined and were dulled to brown and black.

That wasn't the worst part.

Most of it was gone!

Her thighs were completely exposed. Her rear was visible. The entire right side of her body was bared, including her breast.

Violet teared up. Her decency was destroyed.

A bout of hyperventilating later, Violet resolved to transform the girl in the glass completely.

First, Violet threw off the remnants of her previous dress. She vaporized it with a bit of magic—a funeral by fire.

Second, Violet sat down in front of the mirror and began repairing her hair.

Long, frayed, tangled, knotted, dry, itchy, dirty, and split.

Violet fished out clumps of dirt, mud, tiny sticks, and a small flea that made her shriek.

Eliminating the small existence, she pulled a pale green twined rope. A waterfall appeared. Dumping a large leaf's worth of water on her head.

=

Daire was also preparing his hair at this time. It had just reasonably dried.

Daire decided he couldn't leave it in a messy bun or let it flow down. It needed to be smooth and manageable.

Pulling his hair back as straight as possible, he tied it off in a knot. Using what was left, he created a simplistic three-strand braid.

Fortunately, he had relatively even hair, so almost no loose strands were sticking out. Leaving only a single strand of hair in the top left corner of his hairline hang down to accent his face.

It was likely to poke him in the eye, get caught in his mouth, and eventually just stick to his skin. But he couldn't help himself for wanting to look pretty, at least for a short moment.

=

Violet's hair was just coming along.

Clean and dry. Violet removed the split ends, used a handmade comb to remove knots, untangle sections, and cut about half an inch. Quite a lot for her size.

Her hair was straightened and flowing down her back. The entire length was even, reaching the center of her back so it would no longer interfere with her wings.

Deciding it was a decent length now, she started to style it in a mermaid-waterfall braid.

As an adult woman over twenty who has suffered long hair for years... Violet learned to style her own hair. Never having anyone to teach or help her. One day, Violet thought her hair was a pain to deal with, cut it all off, and wept ferociously. As it grew back naturally, she decided to find ways to make it pretty and stylish, replicating some designs she glimpses from her novels. The mermaid-waterfall braid was one of those. It had taken her actual days to figure it out.

Done. Feeling pretty again, Violet moved on.

She was still sitting stark naked, fidgeting in her seat.

Looking over at the pile of materials she had laying around, an idea struck.

=

Daire changed into a fresh pair of clothes.

He was now wearing a brand new white crew-neck shirt straight from the package. Along with new boxer briefs, loose off-white sweat pants held up with his white polyester belt, soft crew length white socks, and cleaned cleats.

Feeling an explanation was required, he spoke his reasoning out loud.

"I enjoy white shirts because they each have their own personality that grows over time."

Daire articulated to the air.

"Boxer briefs are the only option that combines safety, comfortability, and dignity."

"The off-white pants are something I usually wouldn't wear, but they are workout pants that don't cling to sweat, breathe nicely, go with the outfit, and are flame resistant. They are the ultimate training pants for both physical exercise and possible accidental magical mishaps."

"The only down side is that it has no pockets..."

Daire was disappointed since his jeans had so many.

Moving on.

"Sheathing my sword is made possible by this polyester belt. It's also fireproof."

His wooden bokuto hung on his waist, never the be left behind again.

"Crew socks are the perfect length. Ankle socks leave the entire leg cold. Quarter socks were a compromise between Crew and Ankle that satisfied no one. Mid-Calf socs are the leg equivalent of a choker. Knee-High could never decide whether to sit awkwardly below the knee or rest above the knee only to slip back down. Finally, Over the Knee, Thigh High, and Stockings are much more suited to women."

That covered his entire sock research and conclusion.

Resting his case, Daire examined the reflection in the pond. Twisting and turning, he felt satisfied.

Frowning, Daire took a step back. Then another. And another. Soon he took nearly thirty steps backward and was halfway back to his hut.

"What is happening?"