Victoria was having a terrible time. Her vision was blurry, her head was pounding, her mouth and throat were dry. As she cut through vine after branch after weed, she made her way downhill in the hopes of coming across running water. It had been two days since her fight with that strange reptile, which she had come to refer to in her head as a mouth lizard. She had lost the last of the meat last night, stolen while she slept. She should have seen that coming in hindsight, from what she knew about surviving in the wild from TV and survival magazines it was imperative to secure your food, otherwise bears would get it. She was blaming the dehydration for her oversight; it must have been affecting her more than she thought.

So, remembering an old piece of advice she couldn’t recall the origin of, she had begun to head downhill wherever she could. If the sun was anything to go by, she’d been at it for hours now. That is, if this planet even went by twenty-four-hour days. With no other way to measure time, the sun overhead had been her only way to tell how long had passed, it had risen to the middle of the sky since she set off at dawn, so it must have been a few hours at least since she started.

With little to take her mind off the thirst, she kept hacking and slashing at the foliage around her. If this kept on, she would be forced to drink stagnant water from a puddle, which survivalists all seemed to agree was a death sentence. If it could keep her stay alive a little longer though, she would do it, perhaps one of those gods would take pity on her.

She still couldn’t get over that. There were real, actual gods just hanging around. She was an atheist in her past life, but she supposed she would have to reconsider that. After she got water, anyway, she couldn’t have a crisis of faith while dehydrated after all. Speaking of, her entire posture straightened as her ears picked up the faint sound of rushing water. Following it, she found a small stream, no more than two feet wide and less than a foot deep.

Collapsing to her hands and knees, she leaned down and eagerly began to drink from the stream directly. She had no time to mind the sanitation, too focused on the beautiful sensation of water on her throat, that cool liquid the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

It was only when she began to run out of breath that she got back up, taking deep breaths in and out. For as terrible as this situation was, she had to admit the elation of accomplishing anything at all was addicting. Leaning back down, she looked at her silhouette on the water’s surface. Even in this terrible mirror, her hair was unkempt and knotted, sticks and twigs poking out at angles. She couldn’t make out color, in this medium, but she was sure to be covered in grime and mud. Placing her machete on the ground, she rubbed her hands in the stream furiously, before doing the same for her face. It was a minor miracle her hair hadn't caused her more problems as of yet, as prone to catching as it was in this state. It was also an easy part to grab for anything trying to end her.

Without hesitation, she took the machete and pulled her hair, before slicing as close to the scalp as she dared. A few more cuts and she was left with an uneven mess of different length patches. She threw the discard in a pile a few feet away, washing her hands and head of the rest.

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Taking another drink, she finally laid back and lay on the ground, letting herself relax just a bit. As she loosened her shoulders a sharp sting reminded her of the wound from that mouth lizard.

*

Pulling back the sleeve, she found a still red injury, and taking a sniff it did not yet smell rotted. She washed it with the water and covered it back up. There was little else she could do for it save prayer, which… might actually work. Apparently, she had the personal attention of more than one divine figure, which thus far had caused her nothing but problems, but she closed her eyes, put her hands together and spoke for the first time in four days.

“Oh god-” Her voice came out hoarse and she immediately hacked out a series of coughs, throat grown unused to speech, but recovered and began again.

“Oh gods, powerful as you are, please grant unto me assurance of health and safety, so that I may remain to serve… whatever purpose you brought me here for. Uh, Amen?”

She opened one eye and looked upwards for a sign. Anything? Shooting star, maybe? Perhaps a lightning strike on this perfectly clear day? No? Didn’t think so. Ah well, worth the shot, she mused. Deities in ancient mythology were rat bastards almost down to the man, and she shouldn’t expect much from the people that kidnapped her to participate in what that Curator fellow seemed to imply was some kind of sick, twisted game. A shame they probably don’t have much use for good old American dollars, or she’d have paid a fortune to get herself out of this by now.

No use whining though, there was work to be done. She took up her machete and got to chopping sturdy vines and sapling sprouts. She had basically zero clue how to actually build a shelter out of those things, but they seemed like they’d be useful.

It didn’t take long to source the materials. It did, however, take about what she would estimate to be three hours for her to put together that pile of flexible sticks and vines and turn them into a vaguely triangle shaped pile of flexible sticks and vines. She had no clue how to actually do this.

Unsure how to proceed, she decided to simply uproot a bunch of weeds from a relatively flat piece of ground and lay down. It wasn’t quite dusk yet, but better to get as much sleep as she could. There was a lot of work ahead of her. As she lay down to stare at the sky, she noticed a little mail icon blinking in the bottom right of her vision. Opening her system, she was met with a message.

[Shelter Construction (Common) has been added to Sponsorship (Fluctuating Chaos)]

Well, perhaps they weren’t so bad after all, she thought.

Then she remembered they were the whole reason she was here in the first place. Really puts things into perspective.

Still, was this skill worth it? It would be a massive boon in the short term, but if she caved now holding out this long would have all been for naught. Was this the sunk cost fallacy or a calculated risk?

It was difficult to tell for herself. An impartial opinion would be great right about now. Unfortunately, human contact was not in abundance.

Accepting the sponsorship now would be committing to the decision, and if she abstained, she would be able to choose at a later date.

One night, she would go one more night without proper shelter, and if she didn’t think she’d be able to hold out any longer she would accept.

Successfully procrastinating the divine offer, she slowly drifted to sleep. It was cold.