I woke up with the sun breaking over the horizon, easing the camp fire’s burden in lighting the clearing. I would have liked to say I was adjusting to a new routine. Taking cues from the natural world in how I lived; Rising with the sun to greet each new day as it spread out before me. Maybe there was a hint of truth in that. I was adjusting, but the means left a decidedly sour taste in my mouth. I wasn’t striving towards a new and invigorating future, my sweat laden clothes and cramped muscles said otherwise. No, I was merely running away from the pain that slunk around in the corners of my mind. This wasn’t the first time I had woken up with no specific memories, only a lasting unease. A feeling, mirrored in my clenched and trembling body, that I had barely escaped from an ever reaching hand.

I was stuck. By the time night rolled around, I gratefully embraced the coming of sleep. The promise of a swift cessation from the stresses of the day. But every morning I arrived on the other side tired and raw, as if I had been pushed through a fine mesh sieve. Nightmares or just the slow unwinding of a broken mind, I didn’t know. On some level I understood that I had to give myself time to recover. The speed with which my muscles, skin and bones reknit was an exception, not the rule. An injured mind would heal quite so easily.

Rational thought, however, held little leverage at the best of times and the early morning was not one of them. I had never been a morning person and that had yet to change. I cherished the short period after I opened my eyes, but before I got up. When I could simply lay and let everything… settle. Yet I was unsurprised when a blade sank into the dirt, worryingly close to my face and cut my hopes to ribbons. As if on cue, a self amused voice followed.

"Until I say otherwise, you are to hold onto your dagger. Eat, sleep and piss, you will not let it leave your grip." The cocktail of chemicals released by the presence of a sharp blade helped to catapult me over my usual morning grogginess. I pushed myself up and grabbed the handle without delay. The unspoken ‘or else’ unnecessary.

I was coming to understand that Tolsti was much like the blade in my hand. Helpful and comforting to have around, but liable to cut if treated without care. She joked and affected an indifferent air at times, welcomed a casual atmosphere, but expected to be obeyed.

She never said it out loud, never really implied it with her actions either, but there was an undercurrent between us that we were both aware of. For all the loose banter and freely given help, the truth still stung. She was doing this at her own sufferance. I wasn’t her disciple, nor a family member. There was no contract, informal or otherwise. She had a life outside of these last few days and despite the immensity of the role she had played in mine, I was merely a passing spark in hers. Catching her interest for now, but destined to fade as she moved on.

She saved my life at risk to her own. Put her life on hold to care for me and make sure I didn’t blindly walk into death’s embrace once she was gone. Her presence was a blessing that I didn’t deserve, one that was fated to soon be nothing but a memory. And here I was, acting as if this wasn’t literally a matter of life and death. She was an open hand to a world I knew nothing of. A shoulder to lean on as I stumbled though an existence foreign to everything I understood.

It started last night as I wandered through the trees, trying to find my way back. With a shock that left me thinking long into the night it dawned on me that I had to strip myself of old habits. Scour away the assumptions and frameworks I operated on because they were useless to me now. Worse, they would only push me to sprint with open arms to a steep cliff and shallow grave. If I didn’t take the time to squeeze everything I could out of her guidance, while I could, then it was better to just jump off the cliff myself.

* * *

Despite all attempts to focus, the thought refused to let go. Was I going the wrong way? It was impossible to tell, either I would find the camp or not. Yet the concern continued to dog my heals. A stunned resignation over the situation. Over the sheer stupidity that I couldn’t find my way back. Almost funny in a way. I couldn’t even remember the last time I was lost. Everything I needed was always a button or two away. The information ready to guide me where I needed to go. How many times had I reached for my pockets only to stop myself, my torn and frayed pants holding nothing but dirt and air. An easy habit that left me stewing in exasperation.

But the mirth soon faded as I made my way through the woods. The longer I walked, the less funny it seemed. Before long I was fighting a clutching feeling in my heart as I grappled with the sobering realization that I would never have those things again. Things that moved through me as readily as air were gone. And the realization propped open the door to thoughts I only wished would leave. A heaviness that turned the blood in my veins to sludge and my heart to a creaking, erratic thing.

Under the silent canopy I moved in a quiet daze. One step and then another. Over and over in a numb march before I spotted the flickering light of a fire through the trees. Soon I arrived at the clearing, greeted by a waving Tolsti adding wood to the growing flames. My spiraling thoughts of loss stemmed by the relief of making it back and the unexpected promise of an early night.

But as the hours passed, sleep eluded me. Or maybe it was me who ran from it. Knowing something I couldn’t yet admit.

The weight returned with the setting of the sun, as if the night itself was slowly pinning me to the earth. So I lay there and watched the stars blink in the sky. Struggling with a mounting pressure that stole my breath.

It ended with an errant look across the camp site. Tolsti lay in a hammock of sorts, spiked between two trees. The dying fire occasionally sent enough light to illuminate her sleeping form, only for the night to wrest away control and cast her back into shadows. Sick of the turning sky, I resigned myself to watch fire and night dance upon the clearing.

But with a creeping surety, I realized it wasn’t the loss of technology that had me squirming in dread. Upsetting to be sure, but something I would get over eventually, a lingering scar, nothing more. It was the rising panic that pressed down upon me when Tolsti disappeared from sight. The bubbling unease that threatened to burst forth each time the shadows covered her figure. A lingering memory that clawed for attention with desperate vigor.

I was going to be alone.

Again.

The word rang like clashing bells in my head. Alone. It was all I could do to bite down on my lip, fists clenched tight as I fought down the storm in my soul. Eyes pressed shut against the threat of tears. What was I going to do? What could I do? I had nothing. Was nothing. How many more times could I wake up in ignorant bliss, only for the sick reality to come hammering home? How long could I endure the false hope and desperate fantasies before I simply lost it?

I wished I had an answer. Something that fit everything together nice and neat. A direction to head or a path to seek. I stole a quick peak across the camp. No, I didn’t have an answer. Not a path, nor or a direction. But maybe a start. A first step I could take with something resembling confidence. I no longer had friends or family to lean on. I didn’t have a society around me to show the way. Access to the world’s information at my fingertips was a shadow of a dream. For now, all I had was her.

* * *

"Why do you think I’m making you do this?" Tolsti asked with a finger pointed at the dagger in my hand.

I took a moment to answer, not that I needed to consider the question, it was something I had been thinking about all morning. Rather, I was all too happy to grab a few moments to catch my breath and rest my burning limbs. After awkwardly completing a smattering of chores: collecting dead wood for the fire, filling up the water skins and a primer on what plants could be eaten raw and which were edible after after some preparation, I was put through conditioning drills that soon had me shaking in fatigue.

"To – to get used to it," I replied between large mouthfuls of air. The thought had occurred to me that it was more than simply becoming accustomed to the weapon. There was magic in this world, at least in the sense of rules and laws that I had no ability to deal with. A means of operating that stood in stark contrast to what I understood to be normal. At this point, it was bad procedure to assume anything. Least of all that I knew what was going on. And my dagger definitely stood as a prime example of things not to be underestimated. It was dangerous in more ways than sharp metal. That much was clear.

"In part," she replied after a pause, whether to consider my answer or hers, I couldn’t tell. "Giving a child a knife doesn’t make them dangerous to others, only to themselves."

I didn’t disagree with her point. If anything a child was being generous. I was a baby with a sharp blade, more liable to hurt myself than anyone else. My flailing attempts to use the dagger had been laughable at best. Developing some degree of familiarity seemed as good a start as any.

"The beginnings of any martial path should be a strong foundation. The worth of any art, order or supposed master will be apparent in how they treat the new and inexperienced. Do they jump right into skill work? If so, they are charlatans at best and incompetent at worst. The mark of someone or something worth following is in the preparation. The ground work."

"A friend once remarked that if you’re not suffering and dreading each new day, then something is wrong. In a way, I agree. Foundations are crucial, yet they are often hidden out of sight, below ground or behind walls. They are not exciting or eye catching, nor should they be. Foundations are what hold everything else up, the base upon which everything else rests. To build on a weak foundation only begets disaster down the road. But the work is hard and often boring. At least from the perspective of those who wish to be strong. Worse when you must clear the ground before you begin."

"Weapons are…" Tolsti trailed off, looking away in quiet thought. "They are fire. So much potential for both good and bad. Heat in the cold and light in the dark so easily becomes the pain of burns and the sight of ash. There is a middle ground you must find. A balancing act with fear. Some is good, healthy even. Fear teaches us not to come too close to the fire, lest we burn ourselves. But too much fear and we never come close enough to enjoy the warmth and light. Do you understand?"

Something in my face must have given answer because she continued on without waiting for a response. "You leave your dagger behind when you go do chores. Keep it at arms length when you go to sleep. Always just out of sight, far enough that it slips your mind. What else do you have but the clothes on your back? It is the sum of your possessions and yet you act as if it were a rock stuck in your shoe. An annoyance to be reminded of. There is fear there and that is normal. Understandable. Good even. To a degree, weapons should always be feared. But only if the fear is to your benefit. Then, it is merely the respect that it deserves. Instead, you go to lengths to keep it away. And in doing so deprive yourself of all the good it can bring."

By the time she finished I was looking down at the dagger. It was too difficult to look her in the eyes. What she said… a lot of it struck home. My initial reaction was to dismiss the idea. It wasn’t as if I trembled at the sight of it. But as I ran my thumb over the red corded handle I had to admit that fear wasn’t always so simple. To assume that it would reveal itself in plain colors was giving it too little credit. Giving the mind too little credit. I had a lot of blind spots when it came to myself and if I was going to survive, it was best to trust that Tolsti could see where I could not, or would not.

A soft crunching catches my attention and I turn my head to see Tolsti walking towards me. With a smile on her face she reaches over and socks me in the shoulder, sending me a half step backwards. "No need to overthink it. Stay too long in your own head and you’ll only get lost. Focus on what you're doing for now and try not to cut yourself. The body is the best teacher, beside myself, and with time will do a lot of the heavy lifting."

I wasn’t sure how to respond and I didn’t have a smile in me, so I merely nodded in return.

"Come, let’s see if you remember which plants were safe to eat. I hope you were paying attention because it’ll be your breakfast. Try not to poison yourself."

At that, I couldn’t help but give a tired smile. But the look on Tolsti's face had it dripping off mine. I really hope she’s kidding. She’s not serious is she? Please tell me she's not serious. Whatever. It's fine. I've got this. Red veins are generally a sign of poison. Unless the leaf had a waxy feel to it. Then it could be boiled before eating. Or was that red stems with serrated leaves? No, no, I’m pretty sure the it was okay to eat those. Except for when it had a waxy film. In that case they were intense diarrhetics, right?

Shit.