The man in the forest found himself alone again. The visitors that had left that morning were good people.

At first the man named Grant had pulled a sword, which surprised the man but after that no trouble was had. In fact they taught him a lot. One thing that bothered him the most was the fact that a city lay so close to his home. Not only that but if he had walked a few dozen steps north he would have found a road.

‘What horrible luck.’ thought the man. He had stayed here for a week now though. Could he really move to some city? He felt at home in the forest, and here he had food and water for free. Even Grant and Philip had admitted that it was hard to justify leaving after hearing the facts.

Glancing at his supply of red flower flakes he found it severely lacking after the last days meals. A few days prior he had set a few flowers to dry so he set off towards the pond to check their progress.

The dried flower had a much different smell and he instantly noticed it as he neared the pond area. They were indeed ready. He found that the air dried flowers had a much better taste than those that were dried using fire.

He also noticed the flower opens during the night time so they are at their peak (smell wise) just before sunset. It had become part of his daily routine.

The man began picking up the properly dried flowers and set them into the lime green leaf. He tied it off with a vine and set it at his belt.

The day prior he had been searching for a specific rock but the entrance of the guests changed that plan. Now he would recomence the search.

He had already found a concave dome shaped rock without any voids now he needed a dense elongated rock to use as a pestle.

Most of what was around the pond was far to sharp. Ideally a river rock would be nice but Philip had said the closest river was on the other side of the town. Seemingly a few dozen miles away.

Then a thought dawned on him and he rushed back to the Stone Tree he cut down a few days prior.

He carefully carved out the largest chunk he could. A little longer than his hand and as wide as his wrist. He whittled away at it with the mithril knife until it was rounded on both sides and easily fit into the rock.

He then stuffed it full of red flowers and began beating away at it with the wood. It was slow work at first, but once it became flakes it sped up.

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Handful after handful he ground the herbs. He figured the finer he ground it the better the taste would transmit. He was excited to experiment.

Once satisfied he began to investigate the other plants in the area. He had a peppery flavor but he wanted something sweet.

His first thought was the cane-like plants from a few days ago. He found an outcropping of it and began cutting away.

A sweet sappy substance dripped from it so he attempted drinking it.

It was bitter and made him sick to his stomach. However no matter how much he tried he couldn't vomit.

It felt like his stomach was grinding into a paste. Eventually his panting calmed and he regained his senses.

This was not a good plant.

At least, that was the initial thought. But he still felt like he needed to investigate it further.

He brought a small bundle back and sat them down inside his cabin. The first thing he noticed even on the walk back was the fact that the juices of the plant made his hand numb. The same was true when he tried to drink it too. It seemed to have a local anesthetic effect.

Not only that but the small thorn gashes and knife slips on his hands were pink and engorged with blood.

It was helping his blood clot?

He decided to stop guessing and began mushing the cane in with his mortar and pestle. It emitted a pale white goo and long thin strands of fiber.

The fiber seemed sturdy enough to make rope with so he saved what little he collected. Then, after dripping some on a few open wounds that he had, he placed the goo he made within a leaf.

Feeling satisfied the man inspected his property.

Rows of leaf bags contained meat, flower powder, and now the medicinal goop. With rough calculation he could easily last another couple of weeks assuming no major trouble. His biggest current worry was the roof. The leaves that he used as shingles seem to soak up water and disintegrate after a hard rain. He had enough layers for now but another storm would pose an issue.

Reluctantly he stood up and began searching the woods for materials. He could use the bark from the stone tree but it was much too difficult to remove in large swathes. There were other trees that were more suited.

Carefully using the knife he began peeling a nearby tree. Slowly he inched the knife along the peel, pulling ever so softly. After around six inches it broke forcing a frown to appear on the man’s face.

He repeated the process only for the failure to repeat. He prepared around a dozen before collapsing over with frustration. This would take much longer than collecting the leaves had.

Already he had worked an hour and had nowhere near enough to cover the structure. There were a few other options of course, like the reeds near the pond but they weren't in massive abundance like the trees and wide leaves.

He faced a predicament. So he decided to sleep on it and hope the weather stays nice until he can think of a solution.

No one ever said he was smart.

Like clockwork, that evening it rained, leaking buckets all over his bedding and even flooding the smoker.