I was looking out from about half way up one of the mountains.

I was still obviously on one of the mountains of the Coldwater Ridges but just as obviously this was the opposite site to the city of Coldwater.

Instead of the few patches of woodlands, large farmlands, the monstrous lakes and the roads that connected them, there was instead before me a vast forest.

The forest itself was called The Moreland Forest, and I knew at the other side somewhere to the west would be The Greshen river.

It would take weeks to make it to the river, probably even longer if I had to make it through the untamed trees.

If I headed south I would end up finding nothing for several days until eventually I came to The Split's Pass.

It led directly back to Clearwater, back to his uncle.

I would not lead myself to him.

I will never be under his control ever again.

It was not an option.

If I went north, perpendicular to the ridges on this side I would probably end up on one of the large roads that cut through the forest, a route used by travellers and traders that eventually led to some towns and villages.

If I kept going the I would eventually come to a more northern section of The Greshen river, where the city of Gresh itself sat.

Now though, I was caked in blood and vomit, starving and once more thirsty.

I had half of a mountain to descend, my uncles men to avoid and a head still swimming with arcane thoughts that were not my own.

Shivering not only at the cold but at the reality of my situation I started to move down the slopes.

I was lucky, if it can be called that.

My way down, while not easy was still fortunate.

I didn't have to actually climb, I was able to make my way down using the natural ridges and shapes of the mountain.

I fell several times and cursed as I cut and scraped myself even more.

It was never huge drops or being blown off balance by the wind, but rather the loose shale that caught me.

Being on an incline, my balance being offset to keep me upright made it so easy for the loose gravel to move out from under my boots.

I would slip and hit the loose stones and find myself sliding down over them a ways before coming to a stop.

Sitting up and looking back up the mountain after one such fall as I rubbed my wrist, I realised that what I had thought was half way up the mountain was actually closer to a quarter the way up.

High but not as high as I could have been.

The cold wind eased off as I eventually hit the boulder dotted bottom of the slopes, hard stone turned into soil as I picked my way through the boulders.

When I reached the first tree of the forest, I sat down and leant back against it catching my breath.

Sitting there with my eyes closed I listened to the sounds of the birds.

Thinking about the journey north I would have to make.

I was not prepared.

I had little to no knowledge of woodland living, or rather I hadn't had much knowledge of it.

Now I had bits and pieces in my head.

I at least knew enough to know that I was in trouble.

I tried to pull from the swirling thoughts some sort of plan, something to help me.

It was the sounds of the birds that did it.

I looked up but could only hear the chirps and whistles so I found myself dragging myself wearily to my feet once more after I picked up a stone.

I moved a little further into the trees and looked up into the canopy, holding still and staring I finally caught some movement.

I paused for a moment before making a sharp gesture with my hand.

As my wrist flicked out the small stone along with a push of air flew up into the canopy and one of the chirping birds was silenced as it dropped down from its perch.

I ran as best as I could manage towards where I had seen it drop, a few feathers still drifting lazily down from the canopy.

A good sized adult thrin, dark feathered with a slight blueish hue to them.

I picked up my prize and ran back out of the trees, for some reason feeling like a thief.

I sat back down at my tree, looking at the thrin unsure.

I had never in my life prepared an animal, I had never even hunted but I vague, very vague recollections of Althalan or people Althalan had seen doing it.

I felt like I could use magic, I felt like I knew how to make a blade of air and use it to cut with but I didn't feel confident in doing trying it.

My gale had pushed, my will had shaped the rocks even the push I had used on the stone I launched at the thrin had been something I felt comfortable with but something about a blade of air felt more dangerous.

I thought that maybe there was an echo of lethality left over from Althalan that clung to the knowledge of the spell.

I had doubts.

What if I cut myself instead? I think I know how to heal myself but I don't know if I could heal a missing limb.

The sense of unease kept me from trying and I searched for an alternative.

Looking around me my gaze settled on the sea of rocks I had at my disposal and before long I found myself picking through them, looking for one sharp enough to use.

Then it occurred to me that I could make one sharp enough, I had no feelings of unease when it came to stone.

Whether it was safe to do or simply that feelings of any potential dangers weren't attached to the knowledge, I went ahead and picked up a narrow almost oblong piece of stone.

Forming what I wanted in my head, a rush of pressure that bled slowly out of me and into the stone. I watched as parts of it seemed to pull into itself as other parts smoothed out, straightened and formed an edge.

The handle side of the stone knife seemed to take in all the of the excess, becoming denser and denser and just looking at the edge of the blade side of the knife I knew without a doubt that this was a blade that could through flesh just as easily as the air blade I had shied away from.

Being careful not to cut myself I moved back to my tree and my kill.

I hesitated briefly before just deciding to just dive right into it.

Trying have faith in the vague memories I had, I began plucking.

Twenty minutes later I was back under the trees, still cursing my own stupidity as I collected firewood.

I had realised after about ten minutes that I obviously needed a hot fire to cook my bird with, I tried to blame my muddled head for forgetting so obvious of a thing, that and that I hadn't eaten in so long.

My last trip back was made up of as many larger, dry pieces as I could carry and it dumped them down with the rest.

I sat staring at the small pile of twigs I had placed down carefully, not understanding fully what I was doing but still knowing how to do it.

One of the twigs began to glow before it was taken over by flame, I carefully watched as the flames licked against the rest of the twigs and just as they started to catch I began adding more.

Then the larger pieces, from twigs to sticks, I waited until eventually some of the sticks began to catch flame before resting several of the largest, thickest pieces on top of them.

While I sat waiting and occasionally feeding the fire more sticks an idea occurred to me, moving away from my small fire I went back to the sea of rocks.

Searching for a few minutes I found one that I thought would be easiest to use, heading back to the fire I saw back down and looked at the flat thin rock I held.

One more I slowly built the image in my mind and again felt the slow trickle of power seem into the stone. Slowly, ever so slowly what was a flat plate like piece of stone began to curl upwards.

As the edges rose, I watched in fascination until I was left with a crude bowl of stone.

Excitedly I repeated those hushed words in my mind and watched as water began to pool in the palm of my hand, it splashed out as I quickly moved, almost forgetting to hold my new bowl underneath it.

I watched it fill the bowl slowly, easily three or four good glasses of water were in the bowl before I began to feel a strained feeling in my head.

I released the pressure and the water stopped flowing.

I brought the bowl to my lips and blissfully drank the cool liquid.

After drinking my fill I turned back to my half prepared meal, allowing myself to finally acknowledge that my hunger would soon end.