It's a good thing, too, because the moment the adrenaline from sneaking into the village wears off, I nearly collapse. I don't think it's the wounds this time; I just used up all my emotional strength. With imminent death averted thanks to my supplies, my body suddenly feels it's okay to give in to the urge to lie down.

I can't help but smirk. So much for a quiet life—I’ve gone and become an honest-to-God thief. It’s shouldn't be something I'm proud of, but somehow, I am. I managed to slip into the village undetected not just once, but twice. And I even looted one of the houses without anyone noticing. If there’s anything significant I’ve done since coming here, this is it.

I'm not sure if it's my own capability or just their incompetence that makes the difference. I wouldn't normally think of myself as naturally sneaky, but maybe it’s a hidden talent. Perhaps it's even something I gained from my reincarnation or teleportation, even though there was no indication of it.

Sure enough, just when I'm feeling so impressive, I step on a pile of twigs that snap with a sharp crack. I mutter a curse under my breath—two flags in just thirty minutes. I really need to watch my thoughts.

It's intriguing that I don't feel guilty about it at all. If our roles were reversed, I'd expect them to steal from me as well.

Very few people are so principled that they'd choose to starve rather than steal. While I find it admirable, it's also bloody stupid. I suspect that natural selection's the reason there's so few of them around.

I walk through the forest in silence, wondering what to do now. I am supplied for a few days, and I have a good idea of how to get out of the forest now. I also know that more people live outside the forest, if the farms I saw were any indication.

Now that I think of it, the whole thing just screams rural England to me. Or however I imagine it would look if you went 500 years back in time. The village too, and my clothes! I pluck at the rough fabric stitched together with coarse thread. It's kind of cool in a way, I did always love the idea of traveling backwards in time, and while not quite the same thing, it's similar enough that I can enjoy it.

Enjoy it? I stop at that ridiculous thought. Am I actually enjoying myself? When did things shift? It's strange how not worrying constantly about food and not questioning if civilization exists on this planet has changed my mindset. In a corner of my mind, I feel like I can always go back and take more if I need to. I know where to find it, and there are people around. They might be aggressively hostile, but surely that can't be true of everyone.

Flag! Goddammit!

Anyway, I see a possible path to survival. Even though it might mean becoming a thief, simply knowing that the option exists makes all the difference.

I'm about an hour out from the village, having just traveled more or less in a parallel direction to the end of the forest, when I find a rocky outcrop.

I clamber over the rocks, mildly surprised to find that the irregular edges of the stone feel muted to my bare feet. Come to think of it, I didn’t really notice anything when crashing through the forest earlier either. Did I get better at placing my feet, or did my feet get better at not giving a shit? Either way, it’s entirely welcome, and I don’t spend much more time thinking of it.

I'm filled with curiosity about this unexpected rocky patch. Why, in the midst of all this forest, is there suddenly a ledge of rock? Just a moment later, that ledge turns into a rocky slope. And right beneath me, I spot a cave.

The opening yawns wide, kinda like a mouth. Is it a creature's lair or is it safe to use as a refuge? I really like the idea of not having to build more shelters.

Cautiously, I navigate my way down the slope, skirting around it until I find myself in front of the cave entrance. It’s immediately clear that there’s not much to it. The cave is only a few meters deep, and thankfully deserted. I slip inside, and sit down on a ledge that kind of looks like a couch. If you squint. I exhale shakily, finally letting the exhaustion wash over me.

I rest my back against the cool rock, and before I even realize it, I'm fast asleep.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

I awake several hours later to find the sun high in the sky. A gentle breeze carries the subtle scents of the surrounding forest. My physical state remains unchanged. Even if I'm a bit stiff from sleeping on the rocks, I feel significantly more ready to face the world.

The sound of dripping water catches my attention and I look towards the back of the cave, where it seems to be coming from. I really hope it's not just my imagination. And indeed, at the cave's rear, I find a dark, wet patch on the ceiling, dripping down and splashing into a small pool below.

I touch the patch with a finger and bring it to my lips. It tastes clean, which doesn't necessarily mean it's safe, but it's incredibly convenient nonetheless. If I run out of water—and eventually, I will—I can refill my pot right here!

Seeing the water, I suddenly feel the need to drink. I put the bundle with food in a dry spot, then take a few sips from my pot. I doubt it hold more than half a liter, and I need to ration it. I debate putting it under the drip right away. It's coming from the ceiling, probably through some crack in the ground, so it should be relatively safe.

Ultimately, I decide against it. While it’s definitely tempting, I don't want to risk contaminating my water supply until it's absolutely necessary.

What I do very much want to do, is break my fast. And I carefully unpack the bundle with all the foodstuffs. I make myself a hearty little meal, and for the first time since I came to this world. Enjoy breakfast.

Well, probably lunch. You get what I mean.

I know it should be the most basic of basic food, but it tastes like nothing I've ever eaten. Like an angel pissing on your tongue, or something like that. Except it's pissing dried meat.

After consideration, I think that saying only applies to drinks.

Anyhow, it's good. After eating just a little bit my stomach feels like it's completely stuffed, and I decide that I'm better off waiting than forcing it now. I pack everything up again and place it on a ledge at the back of the cavern, hoping the animals won't be able to reach it.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

What is next for me?

Even after finally eating, the exertions of last night and morning leave me feeling faint. I've slept half the day away, but I've been active nearly the whole night before.

As much as I want to go to sleep again now though, I'm going to need to prepare something more permanent to sleep on. That sofa ledge might be better than nothing, but I don't want to sleep on the bare rocks every night.

Unlike the triangular shelters, I do not have to concern myself with a roof, but I can't lie down on a bed of convenient moss either. It's probably time to construct that frame I'd been thinking about a long while back when I was just constructing my first shelter.

Or was that the second shelter? It feels like it happened ages ago now. The memory of waking up in a puddle of animal urine makes me wince for a moment. I doubt I'll ever live that down.

I'm sure I could just put the moss directly on the rocks, but something tells me that would not work nearly as well. First the frame, then the moss. Something about using air for isolation.

I make my way out of the cave, and look around right in front of the cave's mouth. There's a small field that's more rock than dirt around the entrance, but further out the rock sinks under the forest floor again.

Looking up at the ledge in which the cave sits, I whistle slowly. It's a lot higher than I remembered. What seemed barely two meters yesterday is a good five meters up. Not a distance you want to fall down.

I quickly survey the surroundings, but find nothing out of the ordinary anywhere around the cave. There's no flint here either, there's plenty of sharp rocks that I could use for a variety of purposes. Maybe I can construct a new spear with a stone blade?

I take a moment to wonder where I left my pointy stick, but then I shake my head, realizing it doesn't really matter. Still, I feel a bit sad about losing it, and I can't help myself from looking through the forest for a new viable stick.

It takes me a little while, this time my main concern is that I can actually lodge a rock at the pointy end, but I eventually find something that should work.

I then spend even more time searching for a piece of rock that I can fit into the end. I need it to be sharp, but I also must ensure it can be hammered into the base.

I wonder how to firmly attach the spearhead to the base, but the answer is in my stolen shirt, and I slowly unpeel some threads from the shirt. Even if it falls apart I still have the dress.

The threads are coarse between my fingers, but in this case that is exactly what I want. I pull off enough that I think I can wrap it roughly around the edge a few times. I scrape my chosen rock against the ground a bit to try to take the edges off where I'm going to wrap it, then try for a little lip so that the rope has a good place to get stuck.

All in all, it took me longer than I'd like to admit, but my new spear is finally finished. With a stone head, it genuinely looks like a real spear, especially when compared to my previous weapon that seemed more like a child's toy by comparison.

I haven't lost sight of my main goal, so once I complete my spear, I lean it against the wall of the cavern, and head straight back into the forest to gather plenty of fresh branches and moss. It takes me several trips, but I finally manage to put together a decent bed.

It's lifted off the rocky ground thanks to a crisscross of branches underneath it. I suspect it will eventually shift if there isn't a rope to secure it, but the moss does a commendable job of holding everything steady for now.

I'm really starting to appreciate just how versatile this stuff is.

Thinking about versatile moss makes me eye my shoulder, which still has a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around a clump of the moss. Seriously, I hope the antiseptic stuff actually works, because this looks way nastier than my leg.

Better give it a lot of time to recover.

Now that the bed is done, I'm feeling thirsty, and walk back to the pot for another drink of water. It's strange that I can now drink so casually when I was struggling so much before.

A sudden recollection of the rabbit’s blood trickling down my throat makes me shiver for a moment. Though to be honest, it was mostly the act of drinking the blood that was repulsive. The taste was unpleasant, but it wasn’t entirely unbearable. Or maybe that's only in hindsight, it's strange how memories work.

Then I go to my bed, test it out, and lie down. I'm sure it's still somewhere in the afternoon, but I sorely need more sleep. I glance towards the wide open entrance to the cave. Guess I just have to hope nothing comes for me here.

Come to think of it, it's kind of strange that there's no signs of any animals using this cave as a lair. You'd think this is the perfect place for them to make a lair.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It doesn’t trouble me enough to delay my rest, so before I know it, I’m fast asleep.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

I wake up to darkness, and for a little while I just lie there. I don't think I woke up because I heard anything. I've just slept enough, and it happens to be in the middle of the night. Can't deny that my sleep has been messed up these past few days.

I actually feel comfortable. The moss is soft, and blessedly free of urine. The cave is a bit more chilly than the forest, so it's a good thing I've got clothes now. This must be the first time since coming to this world that I had sleep this restful. I decide to enjoy it, and try to shift myself a bit, only for my leg to cry out in protest.

I'd almost forgotten about that, but of course it's going to protest.

Wait, I'd almost forgotten about that?

I examine my leg and notice that it's a lot less red than it was before. The scabbed ridges are still present, but the skin looks much better overall. Considering what I put it through yesterday, I'm surprised, but it's no longer throbbing with that relentless pulse. No complaints from me.

Seeing my leg is fine, I look at my arm. It is... fine. Or as fine as I expected it to be. It hurts like hell, and much more so when touched, but I guess it hurts as much as I expect it to hurt now? Like I've stubbed my toe yesterday, and still feel it today, only a hundred times worse.

I frown. It's strange how our minds work to help us forget the unpleasant stuff. Just a day and a half ago, I was shot through the arm with an arrow. I clearly recall feeling terrified, but no matter how hard I try, I can't remember what it actually looked like to have an arrow piercing through my arm.

Waking up in the pitch-black is somewhat disorienting, but not surprising, given the hour I went to bed. I can just barely make out the shape of the cave entrance because the outside appears as a slightly lighter gray, illuminated faintly by the stars or the moon.

As I strain my eyes to make out the contours of the cave, something grabs my attention. On one of the walls, right at the entrance, a small spot emits a faint, glowing light.

That's odd.

I stand up slowly, and make my way over to the light. It's pretty dim, but hard to miss in the darkness. I peer at the wall, and find a few tiny interconnected symbols carved into the stone wall. For some reason, these emit a dim blue light.

That's definitely magic.

It sure seems that way. Imagine the door to Moria, but with just a dozen symbols crammed into a tiny space of four square centimeters.

Most of the symbols seem pretty simple, like the alphabet if a bit more complex, but one or two seem unreasonably difficult. Like those crazy Chinese or Japanese characters that have a massive amount of squiggles squished together. The lines somehow seem to be visible mostly by virtue of the light emitted, not the depth of the groove.

Why is this here, and who made it? I scan the cave with fresh eyes, squinting into the darkness. No surprise, I see nothing. I smirk. That's what you get when it’s pitch-black at night. Perfect. Am I camping out in some magician’s secret hideout?

Well, it's probably been here forever, and the cave certainly seems deserted now. I sweep my gaze through the whole cave again, but I can't see any other glowing blue symbols. I guess whoever wrote them is long gone.

I decide to continue my investigation tomorrow. For now, I lie back down on my makeshift yet surprisingly comfortable bed. I try to ignore my rumbling stomach; breakfast can wait until morning.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

This time I wake up to sunlight, painting the cave in a warm, muted glow. I smile, and open my eyes, then am momentarily disoriented by the still unfamiliar setting.

Right, cave.

Then, I spot him—a scrawny boy, about ten, I'd guess, perched on a rock at the cave entrance, staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes.

For a moment, my heart races and I stand paralyzed, feeling a tight knot form in my stomach. Damn, I never even thought about the chance of being discovered here by... anyone. Then a shiver runs down my spine as I realize that if he had intended to harm me, he could have done it easily while I was snoring the night away. I really need to be more careful, but what can I do?

Not really important now, and I dismiss it as I re-focus on the boy.

He just looks... curious, like he's found some weird creature in the woods and is trying to figure out what it is. His eyes, dark and intense, follow my every move as I slowly sit up. I’m not sure if I’m trying to seem less threatening, or just less scared.

"Hey, kid," I croak, my voice rough from not being used for so long. He tilts his head a bit, clearly puzzled. Ah, the language barrier strikes again.

I consider for a bit, but before patting the ground next to me. A universal sign.

He hesitates, glancing towards the cave mouth like he considers whether it's wise to get any closer. Then it looks like curiosity wins out, and he creeps closer.

Though his small stature appears a bit apprehensive, he comes across as much friendlier than the men in the village. Though that's not saying a lot.

I wince as I adjust my leg, and he frowns, indicating the scabbed wound with a grimy finger.

"Yup, that's a wound kid, and not the only one."

He clearly has no idea what I'm talking about, so I just indicate the shoulder as well. Fingers are handy universal pointing tools.

If the leg caused a frown, then the shoulder causes him to grimace. In disgust? It does look pretty bad. But he doesn't seem to be put off by that, and at once, his demeanor changes. Stepping closer, and poking and prodding at the improvised bandage before shaking his head with a sign.

"Cò a dhèilig ris a’ leòn seo?"

You what? That was clearly a question, and he doesn't seem pleased, but the meaning utterly escapes me.

"I dunno kid, I didn't just miss half of it, it was completely incomprehensible."

He smirks, and then shrugs: "Chan eil diofar." But as he steps back, leaving my wound alone, he seems thoughtful.

"Bidh mi air ais às deidh sin."

I mimic his shrug, just not knowing what he is going for. Seemingly satisfied though, he sits down in the spot I'd indicated before.

I pause for a second, as I'm struck by just how happy I am to see another human being that doesn't immediately try to kill me. If I could have just had this from the start... But I didn't, I sigh.

It doesn't seem to matter that we can't understand a word the other is saying or that it's just a little kid. Similar to how having food in my satchel brings me happiness because it reassures me there's a food source available—even if it means stealing—I find comfort in knowing there are humans who neither try to kill me nor flee on sight.

When he sits down, I indicate that he should wait, and I make a trip to the back of my cavern to retrieve the satchel.

As I go about this, I suddenly realize that I'm wearing clothes, and it's the first time in days that I've done so. The thought makes me frown because on any other day, he would have caught me lying here completely naked. But, I guess that didn't happen.

I dig through my modest stash, extracting a piece of jerky, and offer it with a hesitant smile. His eyes widen in surprise as he tentatively reaches out to take it. For a brief moment, we become simply two individuals—one quite peculiar and the other very young—attempting to cross an insurmountable divide with dried meat and cautious trust.

As he takes the jerky, I can't help but wonder—how the hell am I going to do this? How do you win the trust of a child when you can't even tell him your name?

The answer is right in front of me as he happily munches on the food. Simply sharing a bit of food seems to be enough to win him over completely.

I point to myself, then say "Emma."

My name feels odd on my tongue after so long. As he blinks, I repeat, slower, more deliberate, "Em-ma."

It feels like teaching a toddler to talk, and I'm half-expecting him to babble nonsense back at me. But the boy watches my lips closely, the jerked meat halfway forgotten in his hand, and after a tense moment, he points at himself, "Ronain."

Then he points back to me, "Em-a".

His voice is as uncertain as a fawn on new legs, but the sound of it—a name, my name—cracks the shell of isolation I've been carrying since I got here.

"Ronain". I nod, and point at him, repeating the name he has just given.

This unusual, fleeting connection sparks a glimmer of hope within me; not just for survival, but for something akin to companionship in this unfamiliar place.

I'm really glad that his name isn't as hard to pronounce as some of the other stuff he says.

It's strange, just the fact that I now know his name makes him more real than any of the other people I've met before in this world. It was always just them, or me. The villagers, the sentries, the occupants of this house.

But just like that you form a connection, and suddenly this boy is more important to me than anything or anyone I've met in this whole world.

I frown. What do I do now? Names are easy, and expected. In this world, or another world, people need to identify each other. Do I just keep pointing at random things and say the name out loud in the hope that he'll respond in kind?

Somehow, he does. Pointing out various things in the cave and giving him my words, he reciprocates in kind.

After a bit of back and forth, I catch on that he's fascinated by my hair. When I smirk and nod at him, he tentatively reaches out and touches the ends of my black hair. It's in that moment I realize my hair is kind of an oddity here.

I'll admit that I haven't been paying much attention, but I don't think I've seen anyone with hair darker than light brown. His strikingly bright blonde hair stands in sharp contrast to mine.

After he's done examining my hair —which frankly took longer than I had expected, it really must be unique— his attention shifts to the spear propped against the wall by my bed. Typical for a ten-year-old boy, I suppose. Still, I'd figure he's seen a spear before, and probably in way better condition than mine.

He picks up the spear, handling it with an ease that tells me he's no stranger to the weapon. I wonder what occasion a 10 year old boy would have to learn more than just swinging it around.

He turns it over in his hand, inspecting it closely. I can't help but watch him, feeling a tightness in my chest that seems completely unreasonable given that he's just a 10-year-old judging my spear. Normally, I would have laughed at calling it a spear if it weren't meant to serve that purpose, but somehow, I don't want him to dismiss it.

"Sleagh," he states, meeting my eyes as he holds out the spear towards me.

"Sleagh," I repeat, though it probably sounds butchered coming from my lips. He grins, but then nods, satisfied with my attempt, and places the spear back where it was.

Next, without waiting for my cue, Ronain gestures to the rest of the cave, and says something that sounds like a single exhalation. A word that drops like a stone in a stream. It's so outside the realm of sounds I'm used to making, that it's hard to follow.

"Uamh"

His patience, however, seems unending for the moment. He's happy to repeat it, slower this time, until I manage to repeat it.

My pronunciation is dubious, but Ronain's gentle nod encourages me.

And so we proceed, in an endless back-and-forth of new words and half-finished sounds. It's like tackling a wave of confusion that pulls back a bit more with each try.

I point at things around us—the messy bed, the little puddle of water, the random food—and attempt to lock down the names he offers. They're weird, these words, not just in how they sound but in how they're structured, emphasizing bits that English doesn't even care about.

Time drifts along, the angle of the sunlight changing ever so slightly as we continue our hesitant conversation. For a while, I do not notice the hunger and pain of my wounds. It’s more than just learning his language; I’m getting glimpses of who he is, his world, and how his people see everything around them.

Who would have thought that his word for tree sounds so much like crab.

Ronain becomes lively and excited, like a drowning man clutching at the shore. I'm not sure why this excites him so much, but I indulge it gladly. Bit by bit, one syllable at a time, we're piecing together the beginnings of a friendship.

I realize that I'm learning more than just individual words; I'm tuning into the rhythm of his speech, the way his people express themselves. There's a musicality to it, a dance of consonants and vowels that's utterly captivating and disorienting all at once.

Ronain talks with these big, dramatic motions, and his face keeps switching up with each new thing he teaches. The cave feels almost alive, buzzing with the energy of finding out new stuff. Just a few days ago, I nearly resigned myself to death, but now, in this shared silence filled with learning, I actually feel a tiny fire of joy flicker inside me.

As these things go, it doesn't last forever.

Eventually, Ronain's stomach growls loudly, cutting through our lesson like a blaring horn—and we both freeze, then burst into laughter, which to my astonishment and mild relief, requires no translation at all.

Needing no further prompting, I hand him some of the bread and cheese in the satchel. We've been at it the whole morning, the sun shining directly overhead, illuminating the entrance of the cave with a bright white glow.

This time, Ronain doesn't just take the food. He rummages through his own satchel, which I hadn't paid attention to until now, and pulls out a somewhat squashed piece of bread. He winces a bit at its condition but tears it in half and offers me a piece.

The act of this little boy sharing what is probably his lunch very nearly causes me to burst into tears. The bread is indeed hard, but I chew it with more satisfaction than I've felt in a long time.

Ronain's expression shifts as the last bread disappears, and he shoots a glance at the cave exit. Then turns back to me with an apologetic look on his face.

He opens his satchel again, and takes out a small pouch filled with leaves, which he shows to me, as he points outside the cave.

"Feumaidh mi falbh. Feumaidh mi barrachd a chruinneachadh."

It's evident that, despite his enjoyment, he never planned to spend his day chatting with a stranger. This little meeting has likely chewed up more time than he planned for, and I bet he's feeling the pinch.

I nod, despite the disappointment that knots my stomach, and offer him a smile. A smile that's meant to convey "It's ok, I get it." without needing to navigate the convoluted pathways of a new language.

Ronain gives me a tiny, appreciative nod before standing up. As he walks away, I feel a little tug at the new, fragile thread to my heart we’ve started weaving. But I'm not one to keep others from their responsibility.

Ronain halts right where the light from the cave mouth fades, his figure outlined against the brightness outside. For a moment, he appears deep in thought, then suddenly he snaps out of it, his eyes darting back to me—gleaming. With a purposeful gesture, he motions for me to follow, a clear invitation that sends a surge of excitement and nervousness through me.

This is really starting to get ridiculous. Am I seriously excited because a 10-year-old boy wants me to join him?

To my slight embarrassment, I am. I suppose finding someone who doesn’t treat you like shit will do that to you.

I glance at my wounds, feeling the delicate new skin knitting together. My inner voice protests against this ill advised outing. I've barely recovered from yesterday. But I just cannot make myself give up on this now. The promise of further human contact, regardless of the circumstances, spurs me on.

I take to my feet, and motion Ronain to lead the way.