It's been two days of trudging through this forest, and I'm starting to feel the toll on my body. My sleep is dwindling, but I've adapted to resting lightly, staying alert even in my slumber. So far, I've managed to avoid any dangerous situations, but my water supply is running low—maybe enough for a couple more days. I desperately need to clean myself. The dirt and grime are getting unbearable, and I'm sick of dry meat. *Argh.*
Right now, I'm lying in a tree, scrolling through my phone. Of course, I still have it. The power banks I packed are solar, so I've been able to keep it charged, but there's no internet. I've resorted to looking at my saved videos and articles on surviving in a forest. *Thank you, past me. I really want to pat myself on the back.*
Honestly, the anxiety and fear that gripped me initially have faded. It's weird, but I've adapted to this new reality a little too quickly. It's not even been a week, and here I am, way too calm for someone whose entire way of life has been uprooted. Maybe that's not a good sign, but right now, I'm more bored than anything.
I scroll through my library and find a couple of web novels to read. *I'm never going to see these updated again, am I?* The thought hits me with a pang of sadness. *That's tragic—right up there with the loss of modern plumbing and the internet.*
I chew on a piece of hard beef jerky, trying to lose myself in one of the stories, but the protagonist is meditating. *Meditating, huh?* I glance around at the still, endless forest. *Why not?*
With nothing better to do, I decide to give it a try. I close my eyes, mimicking what I've read in the novels. Concentration, right? I try to focus, to feel… something, but the sound of a bird snaps me out of it. *Did I fall asleep?*
This time, I sit up properly, cross-legged, and make an actual effort. *What do those old men say? Feel it.* I concentrate harder, trying to sense something, anything. But, as expected, nothing happens. No magical spark, no sudden epiphany.
I sigh, opening my eyes to the same forest I've been trudging through for days.
I look down, and my heart skips a beat. *Is that a fucking tiger?* My mind races, but I force myself to calm down and slow my breathing. I watch as the dangerous beast prowls beneath me, its massive paws padding silently across the forest floor. My hand instinctively goes to my knife, though I know it's a pitiful defense against a creature like this. *I'd like to think I could fight off a tiger, but something's telling me that's not a fight I can win.*
The thought sends a chill down my spine. These things can climb trees. I silently pray it doesn't decide to. My eyes dart to the gun strapped to my back—a last resort, an emergency measure. *Would it even work on a tiger?* I'm not eager to find out.
My breath is ragged, heart racing as I stare down at the tiger below. It's huge—muscles rippling under its striped fur as it prowls, sniffing the air. Every instinct screams at me to panic, to move, but I force myself to stay still. Slowly, I bring my breathing under control, taking deep, deliberate inhales through my nose and slow exhales through my mouth. The rhythm of my breath begins to settle, and with it, so does my mind.
I tell myself I can't afford to lose it. Not now. Not when survival hinges on every small decision. I tighten my grip on the knife, the metal cool against my palm. I know I don't stand a chance in a fight against this thing. But the familiar weight of the blade offers comfort. It's something solid, something I can control, unlike the wild unpredictability of the jungle or the predator below.
The tiger's eyes flicker toward me, and for a moment, I'm sure it sees me. My heart skips a beat, but I hold my ground. I can't react, can't make a sound. My knuckles whiten around the knife's handle, every muscle in my body poised to act—but I don't need to. Slowly, it turns away, muscles coiling like springs as it moves deeper into the forest.
But it doesn't leave. Not yet. Instead, it circles back, slumping down at the base of my tree. I hold my breath, willing myself to blend into the bark, to become invisible. Time stretches on. Four hours pass, sweat trickling down my temple as I struggle to maintain focus. My concentration is wavering, but I know I can't afford to let my guard down—not now. If I do, I'm dinner.
The sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the forest. Suddenly, the tiger rises and lets out a thunderous roar that echoes through the trees, rattling my bones. It's a terrifying sound, one that I'll never forget. Then, just as suddenly, the tiger turns and stalks away, disappearing into the darkening woods.
I wait, still as a statue, until I'm sure it's gone. Only then do I slump down, utterly exhausted. *Haha,* I chuckle weakly, the sound hollow in the stillness of the night. *If you'd told me last week that I'd survive a python attack and hide from a tiger, I'd think you were shitting me.*
The night has fully fallen now, the forest wrapped in shadows. I'm too drained to even consider moving. *Yeah, I'm staying right here.* I decide to spend the night in the tree, knowing that it's the safest place I can be—at least for now.
*
My throat is parched, and my skin feels sticky with dried sweat. I need water. The dry meat and the few sips I've been rationing aren't cutting it anymore. My mind races as I scan the surroundings for any sign of fresh vegetation—anything that might lead me to water. And then, I remember the tiger. Where there's prey, there's usually a water source nearby. That might just be my ticket out of this.
I start moving cautiously, eyes peeled for any sign of fresher plant life, or a hint of moisture in the air. The forest feels alive with hidden eyes, every rustle of leaves making me tense, but I keep going, following some internal compass. My path winds and turns, the foliage dense in places, barely passable in others. But I press on, driven by the gnawing thirst that won't be ignored.
Eventually, I stumble into a clearing, but it's nothing like I expected. The place looks like a war zone. Trees are snapped and splintered, their trunks scarred with deep, jagged claw marks. The earth is torn up, gouged by something big—something powerful. And then I see the tracks, the unmistakable drag marks of something heavy being pulled away.
My heart skips a beat. The realization hits me like a cold wave. This isn't just any clearing—this is the tiger's territory. A shiver runs down my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I'm standing in the middle of its hunting ground, where it drags its prey to devour at leisure. My instincts scream at me to turn back, to get out of here before I become its next meal.
But I can't leave. Not yet. I need that water. I force myself to breathe slowly, to stay calm despite the fear clawing at my gut. I look around, scanning the area for any sign of what I came here for. The tension in my chest tightens with every step, but I push through, determined.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of searching, I hear it—a soft gurgling sound that makes my heart leap. I follow the noise, pushing through the underbrush until I see it: a small, clear stream cutting through the forest floor. Relief floods through me.