With trepidation, I slowly make my way back the way I came. Of course I'm not going back exactly where I came from, but still in the direction of the village. I don't quite know how long my flight lasted, but I'm trying to be as careful as possible. At the very least, I've gotten better at not sounding like a steam train crashing through the forest, though my woodcraft is still sorely lacking. I'm hoping they're not too invested in finding me, because I don't think I could stay hidden from a true scout.

But then, this seems to be a logging village, would they even have those? Maybe it'd be more like a hunter?

Due to my attempt to maneuver to a different side of the village, I actually find myself at the edge of the forest, having apparently bypassed the village entirely. As I stand at the edge of the forest, I marvel at the landscape in front of my eyes. Gently rolling hills as far as the eye can see, sometimes interspersed with what I assume to be farms and herds of animals. To be fair, due to those same hills I cannot see very far, but I have no reason to believe the environment would change after the first set.

Putting my wonder aside, I slowly follow the edge of the forest until I am back at the half circular indent that contains the village. I guess they must have built it at the edge and just kept logging from there. From the edge here to the village is a far sight longer than from the inside of the forest, as if they're logging mostly along the edge. Forest to village must be only fifty meters or so, but the cleared area must spread at least half a kilometer on both sides. They've clearly been at it for a while.

Not willing to give myself away, I have no choice but to follow the tree line to an area where the buildings are closer to the edge of the forest. Eventually I draw close enough to see.

The village sprawls before me, a collection of wood shingle roofs and smoke curling peacefully from chimneys. The peaceful look stands in contrast to the beehive of activity that the village is now though. I see no less than three groups of sentries standing around the village, and that's just in the area I can see. To be fair, they don't seem to be actual soldiers, but burly men with axes might as well be as far as I'm concerned.

At the same time, life goes on. I see children playing in the dirt, women carrying baskets, and citizenry having conversations with each other. I do note that this is all happening on the inner side of the village though. Nobody but the sentries venture beyond some imaginary line delineated by the outer buildings. It seems my sudden appearance has set the entire village on edge for some reason. It's like they're expecting to be invaded. The reaction is certainly out of proportion for a single woman.

Or so I'd say. I don't know much about this world. For all I know a single bloody woman showing up alone is often a precursor to being invaded by a whole swarm of them. I shrug. Not much I can do about what they're thinking until I understand this world better.

As I squat behind a particularly leafy bush, I see a group of sentries with strung bows making their way around the clearing. Every now and then, one of them points towards the forest. Or towards me, it certainly feels that way, but none of them make a move towards me, so I assume they haven't detected me. The imagined threat it clearly everywhere though.

No matter how I look at it, what these people fear isn't me. It can't possibly be. Unless I were an abomination from the depths of hell, I shouldn't provoke such a reaction. Something about my appearance caused them to switch to high alert though.

Or maybe not, for all I know this is their default state. I don't think so though. The village is not very big, and they can't have 50% of their citizenry devoted to defense at all times.

I have the impulse to run over to the archers and beat some sense into them, to tell them that I'm not their enemy, that they're being morons for even thinking that I could pose a threat to them, but of course I don't do that. Aside from me dying before I even got to them, I can hardly convince them that way.

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

It is frustrating, seeing how close I am, but I'll have to wait until this beehive settles down a bit. Maybe they'll calm down tonight?

That still leaves me with the question of how I'll communicate with them though. Maybe it'd be better if I tried talking to some of the people in the village instead of the loggers? If it's dark, maybe I won't look quite that intimidating? My eyes widen, as I realize that maybe there's a well in the village that I can use to finally drink and clean myself! They must be getting their water from somewhere. I can achieve both objectives at the same time!

I could fade into the forest until night, but I find myself observing the village longer than is perhaps wise. I can't deny that I'm drawn to the normalcy represented by the villagers going about their daily business though. Would I already be part of that if I hadn't messed up my earlier encounter?

Of course, with the distance, I can't actually hear what they're saying, but my mind is perfectly willing to fill in what I imagine them to say.

One man runs up to another, that's doing something in front of what I presume to be his house, and gesticulates wildly.

"No Jim, I have no idea where that snot nosed brat went. If you want someone else to keep track of your children, hire a caretaker!"

"I don't have the money for that! And I have 8 kids to keep track of!"

"Then you won't miss this one if he walks off into the forest and gets eaten by that evil woman will you?"

The man that ran up throws up his hands and runs off into a different direction.

I snicker. I'm 100% certain that was not what was being said, but it's an amusing way to spend the time.

Thinking about it a bit more, what I need is something equivalent to a white flag. Something that tells them that I mean no harm, or that I come in peace. But the chances of those kind of cultural symbols being the same here and there are pretty low.

I shift once in a while to keep my position more comfortable, but the presence of the sentries makes me reluctant to do more. Eventually, dusk starts to fall though. The scent of cooking comes from some houses, noticeable even here several tens of meters away. My stomach protests loudly at this point, and my throat is parched too, but rushing in would be suicide. So I wait until night has completely fallen.

At some point, when it gets too dark to easily see, the sentries pull out torches, and it becomes a lot easier to keep track of where they are without conscious effort. It seems like a kind of dumb idea to me to give away their locations like that, but maybe they have reasons? I'd be lying if I said I was using anything other than fantasy book knowledge to guide my strategic and tactical knowledge.

The outline of the village is now less distinct. The outline from the houses the only thing visible. I never realized because I was always asleep at this time, but the night is dark. I glance upwards, wondering, but not really expecting to see any constellations I know , but to my great surprise it doesn't take me any effort to spot the big dipper. Finding the polar star is just a few moments away after that.

I wonder what this means for me?

'Is this not actually a different world?’

I bend over double as my mind utterly rejects that notion. The feeling many times stronger this time than it ever was before. What in the hells?! Why is that feeling so much stronger now, and why can't I contemplate that this might not be a different world? With the sensation so much stronger now it's easier to notice that it doesn't seem to be mental as such, or at least, nothing that I relate to any thought I ever had.

Instead, it instead comes from the hole that the glowing blue fruits filled.

'I suppose that at least explains why the feeling is so much stronger now.'

Dismissing worries about that notion, I refocus on the village. With darkness fully fallen, lanterns and fires offer little pockets of light, and the shadows stretch as if trying to touch one another. The air grows colder, and I believe that this might be my chance.

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

I can hear the distant murmur of voices in the direction I know the sentries are walking due to their torches. Their figures occasionally backlit as one of them passes in front of a torch another is holding. It's hard to tell, but their vigil seems less intense now. Like they're either getting tired, or feel like the danger is mostly past with the falling of the dark.

With my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I start a careful approach. There's not much between me and the first buildings, so the main thing I need to be careful of are the sentries that patrol around. I imagine myself a shadow, flitting from hiding spot to hiding spot, but it's just that, imagination. Moving past the sentries with their torches, and staying a goodly distance away, is laughably easy. My biggest danger is all the loose growth and sticks that lie around, any of which could give me away. Though I'm not certain any of the sentries would even hear if I did.

When I finally make it to the closest building, safely inside the circle of sentries, and in a location they do not appear to be paying attention to, I release a sigh of relief. As much as it was a cakewalk, it was still incredibly stressful. The penalty of failure might very well be death, and I've come too far for that.

The next part might actually be more difficult. There's a great deal more light in the village, though even that is relative. Most people seem to have just retired for the night, but a few people are still about. I see someone. A lone figure—smaller than the sentries, maybe a woman— holding a bucket, and I track her movement with my gaze in the hope she can lead me to my target.

She stops next to a small shadowy building, which I imagine is the well, though it's a more solid building than I had expected. Carefully looking left and right, I creep after the woman. At least the earth is nicely packed here, and swept clean, so little risk of falling over a loose branch.

In just a few moments I've made it to the building next to the one the woman went to, and I push myself into what appears to be a storage area next to it that has a bunch of stacked crates, sacks and barrels that will hide me from sight unless someone literally stumbles onto me.

I peek out between the sacks and observe her. To my great pleasure, it does appear to be a well, and I watch as she wheels a bucket full of water up, and empties it out into her own. It's hard to make out in the darkness, but what I've taken to be a woman would probably be more accurately be described as a girl barely into adulthood. She stands there looking at the bucket of water, muttering something, but then picks it up and makes her way back to where she came from.

I feel a bit like a voyeur, observing her actions when she has no idea that I'm here, but I'm certainly not about to show myself. I’m going to have to eventually if I want to talk to someone, but I’d probably better get water first, just in case it goes wrong… again.

I realize one logistical difficulty with my plan. I had planned to take the bucket from the well, but the bucket in the well seems to be connected to the rope used to haul it, so I can't take it away. I look after the girl, wondering if she's going to use that bucket. But then notice that there’s one sitting right next to some crates. It's hard to see in the darkness, but I guess the owner of this place also thinks it's convenient to have their bucket as close to the well as possible.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Now fully supplied, I carefully check that nobody else is around, and then quickly dash to the well. I'm trying to keep myself standing up straight to look as if I have nothing to hide, but I have no idea if I'm succeeding. I drop the bucket down the well, and as it reaches the bottom, quickly winch it upwards.

It's remarkable that they built a well this complicated here. You'd expect them to just use a nearby stream as a source of water. Maybe there's nothing like that and that's why I had so much difficulties finding water here? Where I come from you literally couldn't walk a hundred meters without falling into some kind of ditch.

When the bucket reaches me, I quickly glance around to see if anyone is coming, but the coast seems clear. I dump the bucket into my own, and, snatching it, dive back into the hiding spot next to the house. Water! I can't believe I have a whole bucket full.

First order of the day is to drink. I put the bucket to my mouth, and drink generous mouthfuls of water from it. Only a second later do I realize I should probably have checked if the water was potable first, but then, the well is probably there to provide drinking water.

I debate what to do now. I really want to wash myself, but doing so in the village when I can be discovered any time feels like madness. Though I’m sort of sheltered between these boxes, and it’s the middle of the night, but still.

I can hardly lug this bucket out of the village though. Carrying a bucket with several liters of water can hardly be called stealthy.

I decide to settle for a midpoint, and quickly plunge my hands in the bucket, then rub off the worst of it. Forcibly dislodging all the accumulated grime and blood takes a lot longer than I would have liked, and the water is cold, but eventually I feel marginally clean again. Certainly I feel a lot better about my cleanliness.

Dumping the rest of the water on the ground, I wonder how to proceed now. I'm shivering from the tension I'm in. My original intention was to find and talk to someone, but the more I think about that, the dumber it seems. The last time I tried they came after me with axes. Maybe I’d better make my way out of the village before I’m discovered.

But I’ve already come here. There’s certainly food around here somewhere. Since they’re never going to give it to me, maybe I can just take it? I try to shake that thought from my head, even as my stomach loudly proclaims the validity of the notion. There’s still something holding me back though. Some notion of morals that I haven’t completely left behind.

I do a quick check to confirms that there still isn't anybody around, before leaving my hiding spot. I give the houses around a slow once over. Being drawn to the possibility of food despite my vague feelings of unease.

That momentary hesitation undoes me. A voice calls out in words I do not recognize and I freeze. It's clearly aimed at me. I consider acting as if I haven't heard it, but that feels foolish. I turn around in the direction I think it came from, and to my mild surprise, see the girl from earlier coming just around a building about 10 meters away, where she's stopped in her tracks the moment she saw me.

Not knowing what to do, but knowing she can see me, I raise my hand and wave at her. I'm not sure what I'm expecting, but I certainly can't use words. That would give the game up immediately. I wonder what I was thinking when I thought I could communicate somehow, especially in the dark.

Waving does seem to send a friendly vibe, as the girl eases up a little and moves closer. I suppose she’s trying to figure out who I am, but honestly, that’s the last thing I want right now.

I can't rightly say what her expression is, but when she's only a few meters away she freezes again, and exclaims in a much louder voice, pointing at my... well, lack of clothing. Now that we're this close I can see what she's wearing herself, and it appears to be some kind of plain linen dress. Maybe a nightshirt? I don't rightly know the difference, but it looks like a dress, or a tunic. I'd kill for something like that right now.

That comes a bit to close to a dark place for comfort, but I realize that I probably would not kill for something like that right now. My gaze shifts to the girl, and I slowly take a step closer, lifting my hands in a gesture of peace. When I'm sure she can see it, I very elaborately shrug, and spread my hands, hoping it's the most eloquent shrug I've ever shrugged in my life.

Now that we're this close, I can see her face, which is both young and old at the same time. She's young, but weathered. And the confusion and skepticism are etched clearly on her face. She's likely still trying to piece together whom among the villagers I might be, and what on earth I'm doing here naked.

I notice a subtle twitch in her expression, and she inhales sharply. I take that to mean she recognized that I'm not from the village, and is undoubtedly the precursor to a shout. In a split-second decision, I lunge toward her. I have to knock her out before she can shout. My fist clenches, ready to strike her face, but when I see her eyes widen in terror, I jerk to a halt mid step.

That gives her the chance she needs, and she stumbles back as I stare at my balled fist in surprise. What exactly was I planning to do to the poor girl? I don't have time to ponder that, since the scream that I was anticipating finally comes. She drops the bucket she was still holding, and scrambles away from me, her shouts filling the night air over the village.

I'm still wondering if I should berate myself for trying to hit her in the first place, or for not following through on it. This somehow feels like the worst of both worlds. But I chase after her. The damage is probably already done, but perhaps I can limit it.

I manage to grab her sleeve, and she spins around, still staring at me in terror. I'm mildly upset by this, it's not like I've yet done anything to deserve it. I try to pull her back with the sleeve I've grabbed, but the cloth is clearly not very well made, because the whole thing tears off at the shoulder as she tries to lunge away again.

For a moment, it seemed like nobody noticed her screams, but then pandemonium breaks loose. Doors open all around, and heads poke out to see what is going on. More than half of them are holding some form of weapon. It's clear they were prepared for some form of trouble. This is very much my cue to take my leave, and I rush off with the remains of the girl's sleeve flapping in my hands.

The darkness is still helpful, as nobody thinks someone running away from a set of screams is very surprising. I assume that they just don't notice my state in all the excitement, and I make it to the edge of the village fairly easily. Where I have to dive under the side of a house, and wait for a group of the sentries to pass me by. Luckily their presence is still announced by the torches they carry, otherwise I'd have never noticed them on time.

I rush across the field of felled trees, and I'm nearly to the trees when I hear a shout behind me. Curses! I was almost there! Well, I shouldn't have expected to get away so easily I suppose, though it would have been far preferable.

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

I dive into the underbrush as my heart hammers in my chest. Every step feels like I'm tearing through any hope I had of a peaceful resolution. All it took was one scream, and everything went to hell. At least I got to wash myself before the stupid calf returned.

Was I ever going to resolve things with these people? They scream the moment they see me, and the whole village seemed prepared to attack a defenseless woman on sight.

Branches snag against my skin, as I bolt through the forest. The warm night air is a sharp contrast to the chill terror coursing through my veins. Harsh shouts bounce off the trees, chasing me, as whoever is behind me gives chase.

Then a eerie whistling sound passes me by, and I wonder what this is. If it's caused by the villagers I want no part of it though, so I cut through the underbrush, trying to put as many trees as possible between my pursuers and myself.

Out of nowhere, a hellish pain tears through my upper arm, and the shock makes me trip, rolling across the forest floor in a heap. As I scramble to get to my feet, I look at the offending limb, and find the half meter shaft of an arrow pierced clean through my arm.

My eyes grow as wide as saucers, as I struggle to make sense of the fact that someone is shooting arrows at me. Another eerie whistling sound brings me back to reality though, and I tear off into the trees. I can't sit still now. Maybe they'll get tired of chasing me again like last time? Part of me knows that's a futile hope though.

Determination propels me forwards, away from the hail of arrows and the disillusionment. Blood cascades down my arm, but I can't do anything about that yet. My breaths come short and ragged, my legs, and every fiber in my body screams for respite, but I can't afford to give in just yet. An arrow that thwacks into the ground right in front of me is incredible motivation to keep going.

Against my expectations, the blessed moment when the shouts fade actually comes, but I do not give up my running this time. They may have just switched to more stealthy tactics, and with them quite literally trying to kill me, I can't afford to relax. However, I know deep in my bones that I can't keep going like this much longer. The pain in my arm is overwhelming, but I can also feel blood pouring down my leg again, the wound having again re-opened.

Running like this took what little power I had left, and soon I'll be back on the ground, slowly dying from hunger and thirst.

Something about this feels supremely messed up. Why are the people I try to see very hard as my saviors trying to kill me? Is it me that has the wrong perspective? Should I think of these people as animals, or as enemies to be eliminated too?

Eventually I slow to a limping walk. If they were sneaking after me I doubt they could have kept up. But even if so I can't go on. My wounded arm hangs uselessly at my side, which seems to minimize the pain. My thigh is a mass of fire, and the leg attached to it drags more than it walks.

Somewhere during the flight, I decide that I can't afford to keep seeing these people as anything but enemies. The arrow that's still lodged through my arm is a relentless, vivid reminder. I should absolutely have slugged the girl in the face, regardless of whether it would have helped or not. She might not be personally to blame, but I categorically refuse to let myself be killed because I chose to be the better person.

Justifying violence to myself like that feels slightly vulgar somehow, but it's hardly me that started it.

Perhaps in time there will be a way to bridge the gap in understanding. I might learn the language, I might find a different village, more reasonable people. But that's all in the future. I find myself unreasonably pissed off at this whole village. They look like illiterate peasants, and they act like the dumb fucks too. Seriously, whose first reaction to a damsel in distress appearing from the woods is to raise their fucking axe high?!

Wincing against the biting pain, I lean back against the rough bark of a tree. It's time to take care of something I really do not want to. I steel myself, and rip the cloth I'm still holding in half. It sends a shock of pain through my arm that nearly makes me pass out. It makes for a half convincing bandage now though.

I take several shallow breaths, and mentally walk through the steps to remove an arrow. I think I've read this in countless books, because the procedure is immediately obvious to me. I envision the steps like an algorithm that I must execute correctly, or face even worse complications.

With my left hand firmly gripping the end of the shaft, I remind myself that pain is naught but a sensation. Something that is there, but will ultimately pass.

'Fear is the mind killer...'

I snap the end of the wooden arrow against the tree, staunching the urge to scream by burying my teeth into my bottom lip. The broken end falls away, but the shaft and head still remain embedded in my muscle. The small, barbed head having pierced through the flesh entirely. Guess, that means I don’t have to wonder what direction to extract it in.

The forest is eerily silent, as if all the trees and creatures are holding their breath, seeing me execute a primitive rite of survival. The quiet only amplifies the drumming of my heartbeat in my ears. The fear that this could be it, that pulling this arrow out will see me lose so much blood that I'll drop, or that it will get infected yet again. Maybe the arrow was poisoned! So many things flit through my head. And by some miracle I was only hit with a single arrow. It feels like they loosed upwards of 50 arrows on me.

The litany against fear pops up in my head again. The thing is really persistent. But the anger works for me better in this case. I'll fucking show them.

Using my intact hand, I probe around the exit wound, gauging the angle of incursion. The thought of pulling the rest of the shaft all the way through my flesh is overwhelming, but leaving it in is not an option. Without giving myself any chance to think about it too much, I wrap my fingers around the head, and yank it out with calculated force.

An involuntary cry escapes through my clenched teeth. The arrow, slick with my blood, emerges with a sickening sound, and the pain is so all-encompassing that I can barely begin to imagine where it begins and ends.

As I writhe in pain, I realize that all the books I've read have ill prepared me for the actual sensations that my favorite characters must have felt. It's one thing to read that an arrow is pulled out, but nothing could have prepared me for the sensation. It occurs to me that even if the writer had experience with the sensation, there is just no way to properly put it into words.

I frantically wrap the improvised bandage I created earlier around the resulting wound. Complicated by the fact that one arm is essentially useless. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't brought along the girls' sleeve by accident. The cloth is quickly soaked, but it somehow still manages to hold back most of the bleeding. Or it feels like it does. Can’t see shit in the dark. Am I still leaking blood?

I need more. With the near certainty of imminent death hanging over me, I remember something I should have long ago. A section from a wilderness survival guide skimmed over in past time, when application of such knowledge seemed like an amusing fantasy at most. Moss. Some types of moss can act as an antiseptic, a rudimentary bandage, and this forest just happens to be full of it.

My eyes flick around, and as expected, I find a patch of the spongy plant growing at the base of a nearby tree. Awkwardly, with a single arm, I gather handfuls of moss, and after partially cleaning it with shaky fingers, I press it to the wound before re-wrapping my makeshift bandage tightly around it.

I lean back against the tree that was my companion in all this, basking in the eerie darkness of the forest that now seems less foreboding, and more like a long-lost guardian against my enemies. The sharp tang of my own blood mixes with the more earthly scents of the forest, and fatigue wraps around me like a cloak.