The next morning, I pooped--about the amount you’d expect from eating a handful of plums--so that was a nice confirmation of the new-body hypothesis. Also, I hadn’t been poisoned by them, so yay me. I ate the rest of the plums and risked a bite of the fennel’s root bulb. Nothing showed up in my Conditions, and if I continued to feel okay, I’d eat the rest of the bulb.

My feet ached but were otherwise doing much better. Enough so that I finally peeled off my shoes. The poor things looked like bruised potatoes, but I didn’t see any permanent damage. So yay again.

I left the cave to go downstream. I desperately needed a bath and didn’t want to contaminate the pool. The day was warming up, and the cool water felt good. It was a relief to wash away the sweat, grime, and caked blood. I sat in the water and just let it wash over my naked body. There was a real pull to the current, but I wasn’t so far gone as to let it take me away. Eventually, I roused enough to also wash my clothes and shoes, before heading back to lay in the sun to dry off.

My eyes closed, and I felt the anger and grief roil inside me. The emotions had been churning in my belly since I learned that I'd died. The emotions spilled out as tears, and that was okay. I felt miserable, and that was okay too. These feelings were familiar friends after all. We became quite close after my wife Helen died. I made peace with her passing, and I imagined I’d make peace with my own death too. Where I got stuck was with my kids. I’d never get to see them again, and that broke my heart.

Alex, Daniel.

Alex owned a small diner in Dallas. She ran the place with her wife, and they specialized in hand pies stuffed with curried chicken stew. There were plans for Food Network to feature them next month, and I was planning to fly down to be a part of the shoot.

Daniel was the more troubled of the two. He’d dropped out of college and came back to Portland, only to make some bad choices in partners. He was really hit hard by his mom’s death and was still grappling with it. I worried about what my death would do to him. Would do to both kids.

Oh gods and goddesses. I don’t know if you can hear me, but please watch over them. My kids are good people and deserve better than they’ve gotten. I don’t care about me. I can handle myself. But please help Alex and Daniel.

I sobbed some more, for a good long while too. I knew it wasn’t smart to do it in the open--a predator could swing by at any moment--but I refused to budge. I spent enough time in the dark already in my past life. Even sobbing and broken, I wanted to be in the sun.

###

I washed off the snot and tears, gathered more plums, and since I still hadn’t been poisoned, ate the rest of the fennel bulb. It was a good thing I liked the flavor of anise--I foresaw a lot of fennel in my immediate future. Hunger assuaged, I went looking for flint nodules in order to turn them into tools.

Back in 2015, the company brought in Dr. Aneil Singh, an archeologist, to consult on a series about the evolution of tools. What a character he was--absolutely exuberant about prehistoric history and sharing his knowledge of it. The trunk of his car was full of flint tools, as well as nodules for the crew to try their hand at making them. I stopped by the set to deliver some paperwork and stumbled across the crew, all of them on the floor, flintknapping, while Dr. Singh walked between them offering guidance. The trick was in the angles, first in choosing the right place to start and then alternating between the front and back to create a sharp edge.

I hunted around the chalky parts of the cliff and found several good candidates for flint nodules. Good hammerstones to knap the flint were even easier to find. The stream provided smooth stones in a variety of shapes and sizes. I used one of the larger ones to break open a nodule and rough out a flint handaxe. Then I switched to a smaller hammerstone to finish the shape. This part of the process required finesse, and a prehistoric tool maker would've used a hammer made from antler at this stage. Huh... maybe I should start a To Do list and add one to it.

At some point, I must’ve bit my lip from concentrating so hard. I tasted blood. Mostly, I did my best not to think too much, just doing what needed to be done.

###

I looked down at a day’s worth of work: a hand axe, a spear point, a scraper, and a knife. My hands were covered in scrapes and cuts, but that was quickly becoming a fact of life in this world. Still, the tools weren’t badly made, and I was pleased with myself. As a reward, I enjoyed some fennel greens for dinner.

The evenings were warm enough I didn’t need a fire. I still wanted one though. The light and warmth would cheer me up. After I made a haft for the spear, I’d put together a fire starting kit.

The whole of the sky was set in sparkling gems. I recognized some of the patterns when I looked up, others not. There was also a moon, waxing close to full, but the patterns across her face were a similar mix of familiar and unfamiliar.

Helen, if you can hear me, love. Keep an eye on me for a bit. I’ve gone wandering past what’s comfortable and could use your advice. I miss you, my heart. More than ever.