The haze of drowsiness hung over Immanuel like a heavy cloak, clinging to his senses. Smoke curled languidly in the air, ‘smoke? Are they cooking something?’ He attempted to rise, but his body betrayed him, and he stumbled, falling face-first into the warm, forgiving hides below. Closing his eyes, he sought the core within him, that wellspring of energy that thrummed with latent power.

As the energy coursed through him, Immanuel couldn't help but revel in the sensation. It was as if the very essence of life within him had awoken, responding to his call with the familiarity of an old friend.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to bask in the sheer exuberance of the feeling. Drawing in a deep, life-affirming breath, he arched his back and stretched, his head thrown back in a silent exultation.

Rising again, this time with newfound stability, Immanuel frowned and walked out of the tent. The village was silent, eerily so. Tents stood like silent sentinels in the daylight, their inhabitants mysteriously absent. ‘Strange,’ he thought, a twinge of unease flickering in his gut. Now where has everyone gone?

"Hello!" he called, his voice cutting through the stillness, unanswered. With cautious steps, he approached one of the tents, the sense of being an intruder shadowing his movements. He hesitated at the threshold, hand outstretched, the fabric of the tent's entrance cool beneath his touch. Taking a silent breath, he pulled it aside and looked within, nothing.

Immanuel spun around, his heart lurching as he spotted Naia. She stood there, half-concealed behind a tent, watching him with those large brown eyes.

"Hey," he greeted, trying to suppress his unease. Naia stepped forward, her initial smile waning into a more serious expression. As Immanuel motioned to the deserted encampment, he asked, "Where is everyone?"

Naia stopped a cautious distance away. "You told Haiak you are a cultivator. You fought a Dras. Is this true?"

"Fight a Dras? That ugly beast, I wasn't really fighting; the Dras sort of... tried to chew on me and then gave up," he said.

She bent down, her hand gently pressing against the ground. "Being a cultivator means you are dangerous. That's why they've gone."

"Me? Dangerous?" The idea felt strange and uncomfortable, as if he were being mistaken for someone else.

Her gaze drifted to his sword, then back up to meet his eyes, silently posing a question he couldn't immediately answer. “Then, why are you here?” Immanuel asked.

She held herself with an air of conviction, chin up, almost challenging. "Well, I am a good judge of character, and I understand the elders' caution, but I made my own choice. And I believe you would not harm me." Her words were steadfast, yet there was a subtle tremor of vulnerability to them—a question that remained unasked.

Immanuel let out a deep sigh. "Of course, I would never harm any of you. Damn it."

Immanuel walked past Naia and headed back to his tent. A plan was forming in his mind; a boat seemed the most sensible option. If he were to follow the river, he wasn't about to do it on foot, exposed to whatever creatures lurked in the green expanse. ‘Yes, a boat’, he confirmed to himself.

Upon reentering the tent, he picked up his walking stick. He gave the interior another survey. The structure was supported by smooth, green poles that resembled bamboo yet felt sturdier.

Naia stepped in after him, her curiosity evident in her stance. "What are you doing?" she inquired just before a cough interrupted her, caused by the lingering smoke inside the tent.

Immanuel turned to her, frowning. "What is this smoke? I thought it was from the feast last night, but there's none outside."

She paused, her hands midway through drawing back the tent flaps. "Well... the herbalist thought it best to ensure you slept soundly, and you know..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

He nodded slowly, understanding. They had used some herbs to deepen his sleep. "They could've robbed me, so there's that," Immanuel said with a slight smirk.

"Altan tried to take your traveler's rod. And, well..." She said.

"Altan is one of the hunters?" Immanuel probed.

"Yes," Naia responded, her tone softening. "What are you doing?" she repeated.

"I'm going to build a boat to travel to the city. I need materials," Immanuel stated matter-of-factly, his mind already cataloguing what he would need for such a task.

"You're going to make a boat? From our Stoenas?" Naia seemed taken aback.

"Yes. I'm sorry, truly, but it's either that or risking another encounter with a beast," Immanuel replied with an apologetic tone.

"Why not fight?" Naia pressed. "You are a cultivator, aren't you? Why not fight and kill whatever attacks you?"

Immanuel paused, considering his words carefully. "Look, Naia, I'll be honest with you. I grew up in a very... sheltered environment. I never had to fight a day in my life. Cultivator or not, I have no idea how to wield this sword. I was rather accidentally dropped here, and now I need to get back to civilization. By boat," he concluded, a note of finality in his voice.

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"You don't know how to fight?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and concern.

Immanuel didn't respond immediately as he attempted to dislodge one of the bamboo-like sticks. That's when Naia interjected again, "Wait. We have a boat. It's used for when the floods come and when we go to trade with the tribes."

Immanuel's actions halted, and a broad grin spread across his face as he turned to her. "You have a boat?" he exclaimed, a laugh escaping him. "You actually have a fucking boat?" The relief was palpable; this changed everything. “Show me.”

Naia led Immanuel through the maze of tents, each a unique bulbous shape against the skyline, and their green hues blending seamlessly with the surrounding grass. The village was quiet, the only sounds being their footsteps and the occasional distant call of a bird or some hidden creature.

They reached the outskirts where the tents were more spread out. Finally, Naia paused in front of what looked to be a standard tent similar to the others in construction and material but positioned slightly away from the main cluster.

With a glance back at Immanuel to ensure he was ready, Naia pulled aside the flap of the tent and stepped inside, motioning for him to follow. The cool dimness of the interior was a stark contrast to the bright light of the day, and it took a moment for Immanuel's eyes to adjust.

Inside the tent, Immanuel found himself looking at a vessel that was both familiar in function yet exotic in design. The boat was an impressive craft constructed from the same smooth, green bamboo-like material that made up the tent's structure.

The boat was long and slender, almost canoe-like, but with some distinct differences. The bamboo material had been cleverly woven into a tight lattice that gave the hull an intricate, almost artistic pattern. The material was varnished with a substance that gleamed slightly, suggesting it was waterproof and durable.

The craft had a shallow draft with raised ends, elegantly pointed at the bow and stern, allowing it to cut through water with ease. Seats within the boat were minimal, just simple benches also made from the bamboe-like material.

What made the boat particularly interesting was its method of propulsion. Along with the expected paddles, which were fashioned in the same green material and carved with delicate patterns, there was a system of rigging and pulleys. This suggested that the boat could be fitted with a sail—though the sail itself was not immediately visible.

Immanuel could tell that every part of the boat had been thoughtfully designed to harmonize with the environment from which it came. It was a piece of functional art, a testament to the ingenuity and craftsmanship of Naia's people.

Naia's gaze lingered on the bamboo vessel as if it held memories and whispers of her people's past. "You can't take Cutting Water," she finally murmured. "It's not just a boat; it's our heritage."

Immanuel felt the heaviness of her words but the weight of his own predicament pressed even more firmly upon him. "I understand what I'm taking, and I wouldn't if there were any other way," he explained, his voice tinged with remorse. "But I was left here, abandoned. One of your hunters even tried to make off with my walking stick."

He sighed, grappling with the decision then said again. "I have little choice. I need to survive, to get back to civilization. And let's not forget, I was left to fend for myself.

After a pause, thick with unspoken conflict, he ventured another question, hoping to shift the conversation toward practicalities. "Do you know where I can find a sail?"

She didn't respond immediately but after a few silent moments, she turned briskly and exited the tent, leaving Immanuel alone with Cutting Water and his plans.

Immanuel began to search the tent, gathering what he would need for the journey. Ropes, sturdy and reliable, were coiled in a corner. Empty crates could serve as storage or makeshift seating. He found an oar. Tucked away, he discovered what could pass for an anchor, and he took that too. Finally he found a sail neatly packaged in a ornamental rectangular box.

‘It seems I'm to be a thief as well as an unwilling adventurer’, he thought to himself. Taking Cutting Water was not just taking a boat; it was taking a piece of the tribe with him.

Immanuel approached the tent flap and drew back the covering with ease. Returning to the boat, he braced himself against it and pushed. The vessel was unyielding, far heavier than it appeared. Gathering himself, he summoned his core energy, letting it surge through him like a torrent unleashed, filling him with a bright clarity. The world came alive in vivid color as he continued to burn his core energy, his muscles drinking in its power.

With renewed strength, he grasped Cutting Water again and pushed. This time, the boat began to move. Every fiber of his being resonated with the energy he was expending, and he reveled in it. He pushed the boat making deep lines in the ground.

As he neared the water's edge, Naia's voice cut through his concentration. He turned to see her standing there a sizable pack on her back and a bow in her hands. Immanuel opened his mouth to question her presence, but she beat him to it. "You might not know how to fight, but we usually push that boat into the water using sticks to roll it," she said.

He eased off the burning energy, and the world seemed to lose a bit of its luster. "What are you doing here?" he finally managed to ask.

"I'm coming with you," she stated simply. Her next words were filled with resolve. "Rai the great ancestor left and returned with the knowledge of spears and bows. She showed us how to fight the beasts and become more than prey."

Immanuel's eyes lingered on her, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. 'She's a welcome presence, but most importantly, he realized he really did not not want to be alone again. The thought of lonely dark nights and God knows what else...’

'...And she knows this land... less time lost in my own brooding.' But then, doubt crept in. 'Would that make me responsible for her? What will she do when we reach the city?’

And while he perfectly understood what he was doing, he tried his best to convince himself that letting her join him was the best idea.

‘Is she not free to do what she wants? Who am I to stop her? She did grow up in these lands, so she knows this terrain much better than me. So, she can make an informed decision…’

‘...Yes. If anyone can, she can!’ He smiled, feeling himself unburdened.

"Do you know how the sail works?" Immanuel asked, smiling. "And another thing—do you ever swim in the river?"

"Swim?" Naia looked surprised by the question. "No, the river is filled with Shimmerfins, Glide-Eels, Whisker Barbs, Mossback Snappers, and Darters. We only swim in pools we create during the heat. As for the sail," her voice trailed off, tinged with a hint of embarrassment, "I've never used it."

"Well," Immanuel said, a slight smile breaking through, "hop on."

She hesitated for just a heartbeat before climbing aboard Cutting Water, which stood almost as tall as she did. Immanuel positioned himself at the stern and, once again, called upon his core energy. He felt the burn, the exhilarating rush as he pushed the boat into the river. The current caught hold of it, and as it began to drag the boat into its flow, he gave one final heave and leapt aboard.

They were adrift now, carried by the river's will.