I creep through the forest like Robin Hood, stalk like Legolas, and prepare to shoot like William Tell. Well, not really, but with my strung bow in one hand, a ‘quiver’ of arrows on my back, and my eyes on the animal tracks I’m following, I feel pretty badass.

Spike hadn’t seemed too enthused at the idea of accompanying me on a dedicated hunt, but seemed happy enough at the idea of going out together. As I search for animal tracks, he’s foraging for food. We stopped by the river for him to have a drink, then I’d picked up some tracks which seemed promising. He’s not next to me every second, but he’s close enough that I could get to him within a minute or so. Or vice versa, if another of those black blobs attacks.

As for Bastet, she’s at home with the cubs since I didn’t want to be carrying them on this test-run. Perhaps a beast we hunt today will have one of those objects Kalanthia has set as the price for her services as a baby-sitter so we can go out as a trio. Anyway, hopefully Spike and I as a combination will be able to face anything we encounter. Besides, it might mean more growth for him since I guess that whatever benefits are gained are only for those who actually take part in the fight.

We’re in an area that’s completely new to me, having followed the tracks from the river, but I haven’t found the animal yet. Last time I checked my status screen, I spotted that the Energy absorption has actually increased. Not far – only by one unit per hour – but it’s enough to make me a bit wary since I guess that the higher the Energy density rises, the stronger the opponents I’ll find in it.

I mean, it’s a rule of thumb, clearly not an absolute: Kalanthia, for example, is a glaring exception. But from what I can tell, the animals in Kalanthia’s area are generally more dangerous than the ones I fought when I first arrived – often bigger, and usually more intelligent. Anyway, I’ve tried to take my time in choosing my prey and hopefully it’s not too much for me to deal with. I am practically on my own after all.

The beast I pick is single and looks to be about as high as my waist. I figure that if my bow doesn’t work the way I want it to, I can always just pull out my mace – I’ve got it hooked onto my belt with a few delicate strands of bark fibre. The attachment is strong enough to not simply fall off every time I move, but weak enough that in need I’ll be able to just yank it off.

Stalking through the forest, I have both Fade and Stealth active. I actually asked Bastet what I looked like with Fade on, since I can’t see it working on myself. The images she sent showed that if I move at full-speed when walking, Fade has very little impact. The slower I move, however, the more effect it has. First a distortion around my edges takes place which makes it a little unclear as to where my flesh begins and ends, blurring my outline.

Next, the distortion covers more and more area, my body ‘fading’ out from the edges inwards. By the time the edges are completely faded out, the rest of my body looks a little insubstantial as well. Once I’ve stopped moving entirely, I’m completely invisible.

Of course, all these effects are only as long as my stamina lasts, which is longer these days, I’ll admit. Fortunately, it seems like my Bound can sense where I am as long as I want them to, so Spike doesn’t have any problems following me. It’s a cool Skill and I look forward to seeing what happens when it crosses the threshold into Initiate. From what I’ve noticed, Skills gain new effects or are transformed into something better when they cross a threshold, so I wonder what will change about Fade.

As I’m wondering that, I notice that the tracks have started to become fresher. It’s not long after that I notice that I’m approaching my prey. I slow down and use the natural foliage to help me hide from my target even when I’m moving. It’s not long before I’m actually able to set eyes on the creature I’ve been following for so long.

Like with most of the animals I’ve come across so far in this world, it’s a reptilian type of creature, vaguely reminiscent of an anteater in shape, though with a long, thin tail that matches its snout. Actually, in diet as well, I notice as it uses a long tongue to scoop up some insects below and deliver them into its sharp-toothed mouth. Perfect!

There’s a very quiet rustle of leaves right next to me and I almost jump out of my skin before I recognise it as Spike. He looks at me and there’s a very faint questioning feel down the Bond. Is he starting to communicate with me like Bastet? That would be great if he could learn that. It takes me a bit of time to work out that he’s asking if I want him to be involved in this battle.

“Not right at the beginning,” I say after a moment’s thought. While following the tracks, I’d considered what to do in the case that the creature at the end of it turned out to look pretty dangerous. If that had been the case, I’d have told Spike to stay back completely unless I looked to be in mortal danger – if I decided to attack at all. As it is, the creature doesn't look particularly vicious, though looks can be deceiving.

Still, while I’m curious to see how Spike would approach a fight, I also want to test out my new bow. Frankly, I don’t have the confidence in my own skills to want my Bound anywhere near where I’ll be shooting in case of hitting them instead. But if Spike stays behind me, it should be safe enough. I tell him that and he moves to stand behind me without another ‘word’.

That decided, I focus back on my hunt. The creature hasn’t detected us, it seems, but has shifted a little further away in its search for insects.

Moving slowly and carefully, I pull an arrow out of the ‘quiver’ on my back. Before leaving, I’d made a rough quiver out of a jumper tied crossways over my back with the arms so that the arrows stick in the neck hole and the bottom is tied closed. It’s awkward to put the arrows in, but they pull out easily enough with only a little snagging. I could have put them in my Inventory, but I decided that it takes too long to pull them out that way. Still, a proper quiver is definitely a priority. Nocking it, I pull the string back, my muscles already struggling a little with the powerful draw of the bow.

My arrow looks pretty good. Badass, even. The pitch adds blackness to the top and bottom of each vane, and holds the head in place. Actually, the contrast between the white tooth and black pitch is rather awesome on the aesthetic side of things. Not that that really matters, but…. It’s not such a contrast on the thirteen flint-head arrows, but they look pretty cool too.

As for the feathers, they’re a bit of a hodgepodge. I’ve tried to keep a pale-coloured feather as the ‘cock’ vane so that I’ll be able to tell at a glance the direction of the nock, but the other vanes are mixed in colours.

I suddenly have the nagging feeling that maybe I should have actually tried firing the bow earlier today rather than leaving it to a live encounter...ah, too late now. Worst comes to worst, I’ll have to go back to using my knife and mace. Or sic Spike on it. Drawing the string back just a little more, I aim, and then release the arrow.

Fortunately, I don’t have a painful repetition of earlier when the string returns to its original position: I’ve tied a doubled-over shirt around my forearm to cushion the blow. Later, I want to use the crocodile skin as an armguard, but that’ll require a bit more processing so I don’t have rotting flesh tied to my arm. Lovely thought, that.

My arrow sails smoothly through the air...to land three feet away from my target. Damn.

Of course, this has alerted the animal to my presence and it leaps around with surprising alacrity, rearing up on its hind legs and making a menacing hissing noise. What would probably be fairly intimidating for other animals just ends up presenting a better target for me.

I pull out another arrow and draw the bowstring back again, but this time the arrow lands even further away in the opposite direction. I think the adrenaline is making my hands shake. The beast is still making that hissing sound and is swaying menacingly from side to side, so I figure I’ve got time for at least one more shot.

This one ends a bit closer, but it still misses my target by a wide margin. Frustration growing inside me, I make shot after shot, only one actually hitting the anteatilion, and that purely by chance.

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After the ninth attempt, the creature’s hissing takes it up a notch and it starts leaping towards me, completely undeterred by my shoddy targeting. Making a snap decision, I quickly slot my bow into my Inventory, resisting the urge to throw it down in disgust.

Frankly, I’m rather disappointed with myself, but taking out my anger on my bow is just going to mean I have to spend more time later repairing or recreating it. It’s not the bow’s fault I’m a rubbish shot.

“Alright Spike, show me what you’ve got,” I sigh, pulling a couple of rocks out of my Inventory just in case. The porcupig doesn’t ‘say’ anything but trundles forwards. The anteatilion is surprised when its next leap is met with a load of spines to its face.

Pulling back, it rubs at its face with a paw, making a moaning sound of pain. Once more getting a constipated look on his face, Spike shoots out quills at the already-injured anteatilion. I note with interest that there are a lot fewer than I remember hitting the black blob. Is it a resource that takes time to regenerate? If so, how long?

After that, Spike harries the beleaguered creature, nipping at its skin hard enough to draw blood and not letting it retreat when it decides that this battle isn’t one it wants to be part of.

One thing I do notice, however, is that he’s struggling to finish the fight. Though he has surprisingly sharp teeth, they’re not very big and he doesn’t seem to be hitting any vulnerable spots. He’s also only just as quick as the anteatilion itself, meaning that he can counter its attempts to escape, but not really capitalise on them.

Neither of them are particularly fast at all, really, the other creature clearly only able to move at speed when leaping. How it survives in this forest, I don’t know, but I suppose the same question could be asked about the sloth on Earth. Between the two of them, I’d say things are probably pretty much even. Spike has more natural defences; the anteatilion is a bit faster. It’s a stalemate.

When the anteatilion, its escape barred to it by the spiky porcupig, decides to go through Spike by any means necessary, I decide to step in. I don’t want him torn to pieces after all and the anteatilion’s slim toothy mouth looks a lot more likely to do that than Spike’s own.

Concentrating on my Bound, the anteatilion is confused a moment later when a rock comes out of the surrounding trees to smash it in the skull, soon followed by a second to its shoulder. Turning to face the new threat, the creature lumbers towards me, its slightly off-balance approach showing that the impact of heavy stones to its head and body has had an effect.

The slow speed enables me to grab my other new weapon out of my Inventory. Lumbering forward requires it to be on all fours which reduces the target size for me. Fortunately – for me – my new Dexterity has made my general accuracy much better and I strike at it with my spear, hitting it in the neck. My spear is certainly more accurate than my bow. I grimace again at the thought.

The range on my spear keeps the creature at bay so by the time it slumps to the ground, bleeding out from multiple wounds, I’ve managed to get away without a scratch. I have to admit that I’m feeling a bit sorry for it.

Although I wish my bow had worked, I don’t think it would have made much difference to the battle. Or slaughter, really. I could have put the creature out of its misery earlier if I’d been more accurate with my arrows. Clearly, archery is just like everything else: I might have the memories, but I’ll have to work at it to have real muscle memory.

Here, standing over the body of a creature I’ve brutally stabbed to death after my shooting skills proved wanting, and the Bound I sent to kill it didn’t manage to do the job, I realise how much I’ve changed.

The first time I killed in this world by bashing in the head of a bird, I felt guilty. But at least that one had attacked me first. Then, the first time I actively went hunting, I felt terribly guilty at killing the sneleon, and couldn’t even make myself attack the porcupig family, seeing them as innocent animals.

Now...even though I attacked this creature, I don’t feel that guilty. I used it for target practice. I sent my non-combat Bound after it and prolonged its suffering due to those nasty quills Spike has. That, I feel a bit sorry for, but I needed to know what Spike could do.

When did I become comfortable with justifying my actions purely because of my own needs?

What am I going to be in a year? The thought drifts into my mind. Will I be unrecognisable from the person I started as?

A nose nudges my leg and I look down to see Spike staring up at me. He sends a questioning feel down the Bond between us.

“Yeah, you did good, buddy,” I tell him numbly. He did exactly what I’d asked of him; it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t finish the whole job.

Pleasure is his response, perhaps because I’m pleased with him. Then followed up with a sense of being ravenous. Next, another questioning feel. Is he asking if he can go and eat? I suppose it makes sense that he might need to replace the resources that he spent in the fight. Maybe food helps his ranged quills to grow faster – I don’t know. Nevertheless, I quickly give my assent.

He makes a beeline for the body of the anteatilion, chewing a few mouthfuls of flesh before trundling off quickly into the bushes. I’ll follow him in a moment, but I go to collect all of my arrows first, not willing to risk losing even a single one.

As I search the bush for each precious missile, the task complicated by the fact that I’m looking for sticks among sticks, I reflect just how easily Spike dealt with the death of the anteatilion. No moral dilemma, no self-reflection, no fear about ending up on a slippery slope. Just…this was my target, my target’s dead, I’m hungry.

In a way, I wish I could break things down so simply the way Spike does. The way Kalanthia and Bastet do too. I’m surrounded by creatures to whom death is merely a symptom of not being strong enough to live.

Suddenly, I miss other humans with a strength of longing that surprises me. It’s strange: I used to spend a good portion of each day wishing other humans would just disappear and leave me be instead of coming and loading my already-full plate with their own issues.

And now I’ve got my solitary life without other people’s problems, I miss them because along with other people’s problems come other people. I suppose this is what they mean when they say ‘be careful what you wish for’.

Kalanthia and Bastet are great. Even Spike is great. Well, getting there, at least. It’s been almost a month since I arrived and I’d have probably already gone insane from isolation if I hadn’t had them: humans aren’t meant to be completely alone. Still, for all that their presence has meant my sanity has remained, I can’t help missing humans. The nunda, raptorcat, and porcupig are just too different from me. Their mind-sets aren’t the same.

They don’t care about the whys of a situation, just the whats and hows. They live in the concrete, in the tangible present. When a threat appears, they deal with it efficiently, and then return to enjoying the moment. In some ways it’s laudable, but in others it just makes me feel very, very alone.

There’s a reason humans sent a rocket to the moon: we’d spent centuries, millennia wondering what was up there, and why something could hang in the sky when anything we tried to put there just fell immediately. We are dreamers, thinkers, philosophers, and I find myself missing conversation which is merely for the sake of conversing, rather than with an end in itself. I bury myself in a book most evenings to try to feed my need for the abstract, but it only helps temporarily.

I sometimes imagine going back to Earth and being able to share lunch with my co-workers again, going to a bar and having an in-depth conversation with a complete stranger. Never mind the fact that I rarely accepted my co-workers’ invitations to share lunch with them because I was usually having a working lunch at my desk, and that after a time the invitations stopped coming. Never mind that I never took the time to go out to bars, and that if I did, I’d have probably spent the time sitting at the bar itself and nursing a drink, silent and alone. Those truths are beside the point: I could have. And now I probably would.

But at the same time…. I don’t think I would fit back in that world. I’ve seen too much, done too much. My previous life just seems so...shallow. Without the threatening edge of death, how do you know you’re living? Looking back at myself in my HR job feels like remembering a dream; like I spent years sleepwalking. It seems odd to think that I’m getting used to all of this. I’m becoming accustomed to living in constant danger, to killing others and risking being killed.

I feel like I should be more traumatised than I actually feel. I think I should wake up the next morning and not dare to set foot out of Kalanthia’s cave. Heck, not set foot out of my own cave, since it’s guarded by a giant leopard. But...I just get up and get on. Is it some sort of psychological defence humans develop in times of trouble? I need food; I need water – I can’t just hide and hope everything will turn out alright. Something which I think I was doing when I started on my bender after being fired.

Or maybe it’s something to do with the system. It’s indisputable that the feedback mechanism of gaining Energy by risking myself and then gaining points to protect myself and reduce the risk to my life is highly engaging.

Sure, getting points is difficult, but it’s significantly easier to improve myself in a measurable way here than it was on Earth thanks to the Energy making up the shortfall. And it’s just so satisfying to receive messages saying this or that stat has increased. It’s motivating if nothing else.

Finally finding my last arrow buried in a bush, my musings are interrupted by a sudden sense of urgency which grips me.

Thinking I’m in danger, I quickly leap sideways and stare around myself wildly, my hand immediately going to my mace. A moment later, I realise that the feeling is coming from one of my Bound.

Worried that something is happening back at the cave with Bastet, Kalanthia, and the cubs, I’m already moving in that direction when I realise that the sensation isn’t from Bastet’s Bond. I stop suddenly, my heart suddenly beating faster: it’s not Bastet who’s in danger; it’s Spike.