Bun left Challville with no regrets. However, after his first day in the wilderness, he was exhausted.

All day, he kept snagging his ankles on rocks and roots. The rough bark of the trees kept cutting his skin. And the bugs in the middle of the forest were relentless. They kept biting and stinging him.

By evening at the end of the first day, Bun of Challville was beat-up and exhausted. Maybe I should just go back to camp, he thought. Back home.

Then he thought better of it. After all, Bun had left because he was unhappy. If he went back to camp, it would be nice to see all those familiar faces. But, Bun reminded himself, he would soon start being unhappy all over again.

That night, Bun fell asleep under the dark canopy of trees which blocked out the moon and stars in long black shadows that seemed to reach and reach and reach into his dreams.

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The next morning, Bun heard a beautiful noise.

~~~

Up in the trees, hidden from view, birds chirped. Their song was crisp and clear. It was so peaceful in the middle of the woods. The tree trunks were brown. Bun stood barefoot on the roots. The texture of the bark was rough and pleasant against his arches.

Bun was hungry. He did not have any food. He dabbed his thumb against a few insects. Bun grimaced at their crunchy, mushy texture. He managed to swallow them. There was protein. At least there was that. Maybe it would rain. Some water would be nice.

After a good, spine-popping stretch, Young Bun carried on further into the woods.

All day long, Bun walked and stopped, nibbled grasses and dabbed bugs, breathed the fresh air and reveled in the unknown. The unknown was not home. It could not be. “Home” was somewhere you returned to. Yet here he was, returning to a new place every day and every night.