So yeah. There I was.

Snug as a bug in a rug under a log, with a stomach that felt like I’d swallowed a handful of gravel.

Truly, the height of luxury.

But hey—as least I didn’t almost freeze to death this time. That was a win, right?

…Right?

Because something was wrong.

The moment I cracked open my eyes, the world felt different. Off. Like everything was on a timer.

It took a second to figure out why. Then it hit me.

72 hours.

That’s how long it had been since I’d had a real drink of water. Three days since I’d last swallowed something that wasn’t muddy disappointment in a hole.

I was on borrowed time.

Symptoms check:

Mouth? Rough. Felt like sandpaper.

Lips? Cracked. Possibly bleeding.

Head? Pounding. Like a drumline going full send inside my skull.

Muscles? Weak. Like I was wading through molasses.

Not great.

The worst part? I knew exactly what was happening to me.

Stage 1: Fatigue. Confusion. General suffering.

Stage 2: Delirium. Organ Failure. Death.

Stage 2 was warming up, and I was next in line.

So yeah. Today’s mission was clear: I needed water.

Actually I needed water yesterday.

Go figure.

First thing I did was check my glorious mud pit. Maybe, just maybe, another helping of swamp smoothie had magically appeared overnight.

It hadn’t.

Bone dry.

I let out a slow breath. Alright. Pivot. Adapt.

I could try digging another hole.

Deeper? Wider?

Maybe I’d hit an underground spring. Maybe I’d just hit more dirt and disappointment.

While my shrivelled raisin of a brain was trying to problem-solve, I saw something.

A bush.

Just out of the corner of my eye.

I didn’t think much of it at first. Just a weird scraggly plant sitting near the tree line.

I looked back at my useless waterless hole.

I needed a better idea. Something smarter. Something—

Wait.

I looked up.

The bush… wasn’t there anymore.

I blinked.

It was by my shelter now.

The fuck?

I swore it was over by that tree a second ago.

A slow, creeping thought slithered into my head.

Am I dying? Again?

I tried to focus but the bush had my full attention now.

It just sat there. Innocent. Unmoving.

I couldn’t not look at it.

I started walking toward it—or, at least, I tried.

Everything felt off. My legs were made of lead. My balance was shot.

If you’ve ever been drunk out of your mind, you know the feeling—like you’re walking straight, but your body decides otherwise.

One moment I was aiming for the bush.

The next, I walked straight into a tree.

Face-first.

Thud.

For a second, I just stood there, cheek pressed against bark, trying to figure out where I went wrong.

“What a wonderful morning.”

I peeled my face off the tree and turned back toward the bush.

It had moved again.

This time, it was right by my old firepit.

It was checking out the ashes.

What the fuck?

Do bushes move in this world?

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

I shook my head. No. No, of course not. That’s ridiculous.

Right?

But there it was. Just sitting there. Like it hadn’t been on the other side of the clearing just seconds ago.

I tried again, stumbling toward it.

As soon as I got within reach—

It grew legs.

And ran.

It grew legs?!

And ran off?!?

I collapsed.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t swallow.

Couldn’t move.

But then.

Then I saw it.

Tiny damp footprints, trailing away into the unknown.

I blinked hard. Was I seeing things?

No. No, they were real. Damp meant water.

Water is love.

Water is life.

I forced myself to move. Crawling was all I could do.

Every inch forward felt like dragging my body through a bed of nails.

My arms trembled under my own weight. My elbows scraped against dirt and twigs, leaving behind tiny streaks of blood. Didn’t matter.

I had to follow those footprints.

I knew I was going insane.

I could tell.

The lack of liquid was warping my thoughts, twisting everything in my head.

But if there was a chance—even the slimmest, stupidest chance—that these footprints led to water?

I had to take it.

So I kept crawling.

Sometimes, I thought I saw the moving bush ahead of me.

Other times, I thought it was right in front of my face.

Once, I swore I heard it whisper my name.

Through it all, I crawled.

At some point, the logic in my head shattered.

It was obvious now.

This wasn’t a bush.

This was a divine being.

A spirit. A sacred messenger of hydration, sent from the heavens to guide me.

O’ Holy Bush, O’ Divine Provider of Life, I submit myself before thee.

Figures. The HR Goddess had forsaken me, but the Spirit of Water had not.

O’ Holy One! Where art thou? Why dost thou hide?

I kept crawling.

I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when the spirit itself had descended to save me.

Then, suddenly, it got easier.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the pain vanished.

It was like my body unlocked the last reserves of energy buried in my bones.

I thought I was dying.

Terminally ill patients always had a final moment of lucidity before the end. I remembered that from orientation.

Apparently I was getting mine.

It was good timing though.

Thanks to it I was able to stand.

My aches and pains? Gone.

My body? Weightless.

For just a moment.

But that moment was all I needed.

I lifted my head.

And there it was.

The Holy Bush.

Waiting for me.

Standing atop a shimmering reflection of the sky.

A pond.

I sprinted.

Or, at least, I thought I did.

In reality, I probably just stumbled forward like a corpse on strings.

Didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except getting to the water.

I collapsed by the edge and plunged my head in.

Cool. Crisp. Heavenly.

I drank. Gulp after gulp.

A wave of pure relief crashed over me. My brain, dead and shriveled just moments ago, suddenly lit up like a power surge. (And just like that, my brain sparked to life.)

For one glorious second, everything felt perfect.

And then­—

Wrong pipe.

I jerked my head up, choking violently. My lungs screamed.

Water exploded out of my mouth. I heaved, gasped, sputtered. Hacking up every drop I’d just swallowed.

It was vile.

But in the middle of all that coughing, the fog in my head started to clear.

I could think again.

Slowly I cupped my hands into the pond.

Smaller sips.

This time I drank properly.

Handful after handful.

Until I couldn’t drink any more.

I sat back, letting my breath slow.

Took in my surroundings for the first time.

I hadn’t explored much beyond my little base.

I had no clue where I was.

So yeah. Just another day in paradise.

On the other side of the pond, I saw it.

The bush.

It was leaning over the water. Drinking?

Oh, Holy Bush. Oh, Magic Bush.

Oh, how I love you.

I crept forward, circling the pond with the utmost reverence.

It sat there, content, serene, enlightened.

A divine being partaking in the very essence of life itself.

How lucky was I to witness such a sacred moment?

Oh boy, did I ever know the feeling.

Still, I moved with care. I could not disturb the spirit.

I had to earn its favour.

And when I got close enough—when fate itself deemed it was time—

I lunged.

I snatched it up, cradling it in my hands like a relic of the gods.

Tiny beetle-like legs dangled in the air, twitching.

I felt tears sting my eyes.

O’ Holy Spirit! O’ Divine Angel of Water! Come with me! I shall follow you forever!

It twitched.

It recognized me.

I had been chosen.

Huzzah!

I lifted it high, presenting it to the heavens like Simba.

“This is the first day! They shall speak of this day in the history books! The day of the Holy Water Bush—”

And then it bit me.

The little cocker bit me.

I yelped, dropped it, and immediately dropped to my knees.

I bowed my head so low my forehead scraped the dirt.

“O’ great wise sage, please do no forsake me!”

The bush didn’t even acknowledge me.

It just waddled back to the pond and resumed drinking, like I didn’t exist.

A test.

Surely this was a test of my devotion.

I pressed my forehead deeper into the dirt.

“I beg of you, don’t forsake me. I shall be the most devout follower.”

The bush did not respond.

Perhaps, one day, it would.

Perhaps, one day, I would be worthy.

A branch snapped.

I froze.

Something rustled behind me.

Slowly, I lifted my head.

I turned—

And came face to face with a nightmare.

It had the head of a deer, the body of a horse, and the legs of a cow.

If I had to describe it, that would be how.

But descriptions didn’t do it justice.

Its limbs were just a little too long.

Its movements were just a little too smooth.

I blinked.

It didn’t.

I swallowed.

It didn’t.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

I felt every hair on my body stand on end.

It was watching me.

And I didn’t know why.

I ran.

Didn’t think. Didn’t look back.

Just ran.

I tried to retrace my steps back to my shelter, but I had no idea where the hell I was.

Didn’t matter.

Getting anywhere but here was the priority.

Then, mid-sprint, it hit me.

I’d forgotten the Holy Water Spirit.

Ah well.

It was a spirit, so it would probably be fine.

At least, I’d found water.

I wasn’t dying today.

Not yet.

And that?

That was a win.

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.

For the first time since arriving in this godforsaken world…

I was going to survive.