Another night and another morning, more plums and fennel root.

I left the glen to hunt for materials. I brought the handaxe and used it to chop free two branches, a shorter one to turn into a digging stick and a longer one with the potential to become a spear. I trimmed away the leaves and stubs, so that both were relatively straight.

Back at the pool, I used the flint knife to give the digging stick a wedge at one end and smoothed the wedge’s planes by rubbing them on stone. With it, I’d easily be able to dig up root vegetables. In a pinch, the digging stick would also serve as a walking stick, lever, and impromptu weapon. It’d help to harden the tip, but for that I needed a fire. That’d come later. A fire starter kit was already on my To Do list.

Digging stick in hand, I set out again. I didn’t find any vegetables, but I did come across a fallen cedar. The log was damp on the outside and crawling with blue pill-like bugs. The bark was mostly detached from the trunk, and I used the digging stick to pry up a long section. The fibers underneath were nice and loose. Some of them were black, rotting or near rotting, but the rest were beautifully golden and ready to be braided into rope. I dragged the bark to the cave and went back twice more to get as much I could.

By the time I was done, it was afternoon again. After a lunch of plums and fennel greens, I started separating and braiding the bark fibers. It took two failed attempts--I only remembered that section of the show vaguely--but eventually I found the knack for twisting the fibers around my fingers to braid them into rope.

It was long and tedious, but I knew I’d need lots of cordage of various strengths. I had plans for a spear, more tools, and even furniture. (A bed would be nice. The moss helped, but I was still sleeping on stone every night.)

I ended up using the last of the daylight braiding rope. The spear haft and fire starter kit would just have to wait till tomorrow.

###

The next day, I had three goals. The first was to make a spear. The second was to start a fire. And the third was to eat something other than plums and fennel.

The first task went reasonably well. I used a rock to pound one end of the wood that would become the spear’s haft. Once it was softened, I split the wood using the flint knife and wedged the spear point inside. The point was then lashed into place using the braided cord I made yesterday. I ruined eighteen inches of cord figuring it out, but I eventually found an arrangement that held the point steady.

The finished spear was four feet long and a little too heavy for me, but then I wanted it to be sturdy. I brought it with me when I went to look for materials for the fire starting kit.

If I remembered right, the spindle needed to be made from hardwood, but the hearth board should be softwood. The idea was that the friction from spinning the spindle abraded dust from the hearth board, which caught fire from the heat and produced a coal. The coal could then be used to ignite a tinder bundle.

I was considering my options, when the forest sounds hushed around me. The canopy blanketed this part of the forest, making it hard for underbrush to grow, so I had clear sight lines all around. I didn’t see anything that’d spook the birds though. No angry baboons, tigers, or bears. No hippogriffs, chimeras, or dragons.

I gulped. Oh. Oh. Maybe I was wrong about the dragon. Something passed overhead--something big and menacing. My knees nearly buckled, and I only held onto the spear because of my deathgrip on the haft.

The canopy shook with the creature’s passing. Through the swaying tree cover, I saw… a glimpse, an outline, the shape of a dragon fly towards the glen. My brain went sideways, not able to handle what my eyes were telling me.

Meliune’s Blessing kicked in, while I did my best not to piss my pants.

Not sure what was safe, I hid behind a tree and waited. After an hour, the bird song resumed. An hour after that, I worked up the courage to sneak back to the glen. It was the safest place I’d found in this world, and I didn’t want to lose it if I could help it. Moving quietly, I climbed the hillside, looping up and around, to the cliff overlooking the glen.

The forest at the top of the cliff was crowded with trees and brush. Vines hung from the branches. Some had small purple flowers. Others were orange or pink. The scent was vaguely minty.

My heart beat hard in my chest as I crept toward the cliff’s edge. Below, the pool was nestled between two hillsides. A quarter of the water’s surface was in shadow, but the rest was bright in the afternoon light. Specks of color darted in the water. There was no dragon in sight. Nor anything else large and terrible. Only a five foot black log at the glen’s edge.

I didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t a giant log of dragon’s dung. That couldn’t be right, could it? I was asking myself just that question when something bit me on the ass. I jumped. Which was really, really unfortunate.

Over the cliff’s edge, I went.