I headed back in the direction of the plateau, since that seemed like the most logical place to begin experimenting with gravity and rocks. On my way back, I kept my eyes peeled for any tortoises. While “falling rocks” could be a threat to any living creatures, it seemed like tortoises would make the most natural targets, considering how slow-moving they were: there was no guarantee that I could ambush animals like ants or hyenas with falling rocks. An object dropped from a height of around 60 feet...call it 20 meters...would take around...let’s see, about two seconds to hit the ground. I wasn’t sure how much of a reaction window that actually gave the would-be victim, since they probably wouldn’t notice the falling object right away, but even if they weren’t trying to avoid the falling object, it was always hard to lead a moving target, and I didn’t have enough rocks to get away with a low accuracy rate. Tortoises seemed hard to miss by comparison: if their slow movement weren’t enough, they also presented larger targets. And if I really had problems with a tortoise moving too much, I could always kill it with my [noxious breath] to ensure a completely stationary target.

My focus was on getting back to the plateau, and not searching for more tortoises (that would probably be easier once I had reached a higher vantage point), but I easily spotted the one I had encountered earlier when trailing the ant -- the tortoise that seemed as oblivious to the ant as the ant had been to it -- and I did my best to capture its color in my mind’s eye, taking special notice of the way that the color and shape of its shell contrasted against the ground around it. It blended in with its surroundings pretty well, even when I knew what I was looking for. Ultimately, studying the ground immediately surrounding the tortoise was what gave me the biggest hint for identifying more like it: the shape of its shadow was a dead giveaway, on account of its uniform dome shape. While it wasn’t easy to make out the silhouette of the tortoise when simply observing it against the backdrop of its surroundings, the shadow it cast didn’t blend in with anything, provided the shadow was cast onto a reasonably flat surface.

Still, the “look for the shadow” approach wasn’t a fool-proof plan for tortoise-spotting. For one thing, the shadow would only be smooth in situations where the shadow was cast onto a reasonably flat surface. For another, it was a marker that would become less visible closer to midday, as shadows got closer toward noon. Still, there was plenty of time in the early morning and midday when I could take advantage of those shadows.

Reasonably assured that I could find more tortoises when the need arose, I turned my attention to the rocks. I scoured the surface of the plateau and rounded up the rocks I could find. I found 17 rocks that seemed large enough to do decent damage, varying from what I might describe as “large rock” to “boulder.” Those would be saved for actual ammunition. Besides that, I had dozens more rocks that, while small, were probably heavy enough that they could be dropped off the edge of the plateau and hit the ground before reaching terminal velocity. Those would be my test subjects: probably not useful for cracking any shells, but definitely useful when it came to gathering data and practicing.

I gathered a small pile of the test rocks and spent some time experimenting with the smaller stones. The hardest part, I quickly realized, was finding a part of the plateau that was a sheer drop. While the sides of the plateau gave the impression of a “cliffside,” the truth was that most of it was just a very steep slope. For maximum velocity (and maximum kinetic energy upon impact), I wanted to drop my rock directly onto the hapless victim below, rather than rolling down a steep hill that could introduce the unpredictable element of friction that could send the rock off course. Previously, when looking for the ideal pathway up and down the plateau for climbing purposes, I had been looking for the shallowest grade, but now I wanted the opposite, a part where the plateau’s edge was actually an overhanging angle.

I slowly worked my way around the perimeter of the plateau. As I did so, I found myself struck by just how difficult it was to find that “sheer drop” spot. Many spots that seemed perfectly vertical turned out not to be, as time after time I pushed my rocks off the edge of the plateau, only for them to roll down or bounce off the side before hitting the ground and coming to a rest.

If there weren’t any spots around the plateau that were truly a “sheer drop,” I might have to resort to hurling stones off the edge, or sending them on their way with enough horizontal momentum to hit the ground without scraping against the side of the plateau on their way down. That prospect didn’t excite me. The smaller stones that I was using as “test subjects” could be used as proxies for the larger rocks if all I cared about was the vertical drop, but once horizontal momentum entered the picture, I had to start thinking about the exact angle I was pushing the rock from, not to mention the fact that objects of different amounts of mass would require varying amounts of force to push. And then there was the fact that the source of the horizontal momentum would be me, and exerting a given amount of effort was not as precise as simply allowing an object to drop from a given marked position. In short, an approach that relied on throwing rocks, rather than dropping them, would ask a lot more from me in terms of aiming ability, and I knew that once I started dropping the larger rocks, my attempts would be limited by the amount of material I had on hand.

After what must have been more than an hour of systematically making my way around the plateau’s perimeter, I still had yet to identify a “sweet spot” that would allow my to drop objects directly onto unsuspecting victims. I was far from giving up hope -- I had only covered about half of the plateau’s perimeter, with plenty more area to test, and plenty more small rocks to test with, but it was hard to ignore the fact that my hunger meter had dropped to a mere 10% satiety, and I decided it was once again time to descend the plateau in search of food. When I’d had my “eureka” moment and gotten the idea to use falling rocks as a way to strike possible prey, I had fantasized about feasting on turtle meat before the end of the day, but it was clear that this “operation free-fall” would have to be a longer-term project.

Then again, maybe I wouldn’t have to give up on turtle meat entirely, though admittedly what I’d be dining on would be closer to “scraps” than any sort of feast. I returned once again to the shell of the fallen turtle from yesterday, and for the third time today, took the liberty of ambushing several of the ants that had come to feed on its remains. I also took the liberty of using my [noxious breath] to actually defeat several of the ants and dine on their remains, since the day was starting to wear long, and I still had quite a bit of SP in reserve. Each day apparently brought me back up to full stamina, so I figured it was “use it or lose it,” and the ants seemed like as good a target as any for using it. After a light dinner, I was down to [4/11 SP] and [26% satiety].

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I was feeling pretty good about that. Today had been a good day, all things considered. I had discovered -- if not implemented -- the power of gravitational potential energy. Well, technically, power had a more specific meaning (equal to energy per unit time) -- but it seemed like an important breakthrough and a good basis for future projects. Outside of that mental leap forward, today would also be the first day that I would be going to bed with more food in my stomach than when the day had started. And perhaps best of all, this was the first day I had lived here that hadn’t ended with me being pursued by hyenas, fleeing for my life, and sitting on top of the plateau with 0 SP and just waiting for the day to end. In fact, it seemed like this might be the first day were I would run out of time before I ran out of SP.

That raised an important question: what were the limits of my wakefulness? Could I stay out after dark? All of my exploration of the valley so far had been done by daylight, but maybe I could stay out after dark. Granted, on the previous two days I had fallen asleep shortly after sunset, but it was no wonder -- I had been in a state of physical exhaustion, if my [0 SP] had been any indication of my physical capability. Sleep obviously had its benefits: it was how I recovered HP and SP, and while I was asleep my metabolism burned calories significantly slower. But it seemed worthwhile spending time out after dark, if only for the sake of learning more about the world I inhabited.

Then again, night could hold greater dangers. For one thing, it would probably be harder for me to sense the approach of predators. And there was the chance that there might be nocturnal predators lurking about, creatures that I had managed to avoid only because they had been sleeping during the day. Of course, the flip side to that was that prey could be nocturnal, too: maybe after dark, some new vulnerable critters would come out to play, and I’d be the nocturnal predator, catching them unawares.

A nighttime expedition seemed like a good way to end what had otherwise been a fulfilling day, but I didn’t want to wander too far away from the safety of the plateau, just in case something unexpected happen -- and I was fully aware that “something unexpected” could be something as seemingly trivial as having trouble climbing without being able to see. In fact, the lack of visibility, more than the presence of potential predators, seemed like the real danger of being out after dark. In my previous life, I had (more often than I cared to admit) made nocturnal journeys from my bed to the bathroom that ended with a badly stubbed toe, and that was with a body that I had over two decades of experience with, sometimes stubbing my toe in rooms where I had spent years living. In comparison, what hope did a 3-day-old baby dragon have? Well, maybe it was a matter of focus. A mindful baby dragon could potentially do better than an absent-minded and groggy human.

Bearing that in mind, I decided to test my climbing ability on the side of the plateau that I was most comfortable with, testing myself by closing my eyes and seeing whether I could make my way up solely by feel. It was easier than I had expected: a big part of scaling the side of the plateau involved searching for parts where my claws could get a good grip, and I already had no visibility over my hind claws, meaning that the only added challenge of working without vision was now having to do the same thing with my foreclaws, which I had sort of already been doing to a large extent anyway: finding clawholds by feel and touch was actually more naturally intuitive to my dragon body than trying to eyeball the rock to look for good patches. I supposed part of it was due to the plateau being mostly uniform in texture, unlike a rock climbing gym that I had visited in the city of Boulder back in my human days, where the “rock” was really just a flat surface with handholds and footholds spaced out at regular intervals.

Confident that lack of visibility wouldn’t prevent me from scaling up to the perch that I now called “home,” I hauled myself onto that perch to watch the sun set. I was struck by the natural beauty of the sunset, which draped the sky in intense hues ranging from coral pink to deep crimson to fiery gold. It reminded me of the sunsets I had experienced back during my days in Denver. The sunset’s intense colors were due to a lack of particles in the air -- not just a lack of pollution, but a lack of water molecules due to the desert’s natural lack of humidity. Drier air meant less water to get in the way, and purer colors.

I had once gone on a date where I had taken someone out to see a sunset not unlike this one, imagining that the scenic vista might serve as a nice romantic backdrop. During the date, I had taken it upon myself to provide an explanation of how humidity impacted the spectrum of light that was visible to grounded observers, which was followed by a comment from my date about how my overwrought explanation had ruined an otherwise picturesque scene. (Needless to say, that experience did not lead to a second date.) But even as my mind dwelled on the nature of visible light and the various factors that affected the hues that decorated the horizon, I didn’t feel like my scientific understanding of what I was seeing diminished my appreciation of it, any more than a biologist’s understanding of wildlife biology diminished their appreciation for animals, or an painter’s understanding of pigments diminished their ability to appreciate others’ art. If anything, I felt that understanding the world helped me to better appreciate it. The person who disassembled a music box to see how it worked often came away with a greater appreciation for the handiwork that went into assembling it.

Perhaps that was the gift that Athena had given to the denizens of this world: the notifications I received each day, as inorganic as they were, provided me a window into better understanding the world that I inhabited. That, of course, had practical applications, since it allowed me to precisely determine how much activity I could engage in each day, and how much food I needed to eat to avoid starvation. But on a certain level, seeing the mechanisms that drove this world also provided me with an ability to learn about the entity that had created it. What did the properties of this world reveal about the design priorities of its creator? I was excited to find out. For the past few days, that excitement had been buried under more pressing and urgent concerns, like “not starving to death,” but I didn’t want to lose sight of the fact that this was still a world full of mysteries to explore.

Some of those mysteries would be large in scope, like coming to a better understanding of what drove worldbuilders like Athena, and how I might “ascend” from this world to become a worldbuilder myself, since that was apparently on the table. Other mysteries were smaller in scope, like, “What mischief might a level 3 baby dragon get into after dark?” The twilight hour was drawing to a close and my eyes were adjusting to the darkness, so now seemed like the perfect time to answer this question.

Class: Baby Dragon Level: 3 Progress toward next level: 32% HP: 16/23 SP: 4/11 Satiety: 18% Claws: level 1 Scales: level 1 Mouth: level 4 Wings: level 0 Traits: Carnivore, Kin sensitive Abilities: Sprinting, Noxious Breath