The morning after the attack on the Shawnee village, the air in the settlement was thick with an uneasy calm. The settlers went about their work, trying to pretend that nothing had changed, but you could see the shift in their eyes—hardened, resolved. To them, the raid was a victory, a necessary evil to keep their claim on the land. They saw themselves as pioneers, doing what had to be done. But all you could see was the fire, the fear in the faces of the Shawnee as their homes burned.
You stood at the edge of the camp, watching the tree line. You hadn't been able to sleep. Images of the charred lodge, the smell of burning wood and animal hide, lingered in your mind. Elk Eye's face was burned into your memory—cold, emotionless, like a stone wall. You'd lost any connection you'd had with him and his people. They didn't trust you anymore, not after what the settlers had done in your name, no matter how much you'd tried to stop it.
You didn't belong here. Not with the settlers, who were too blind to see the destruction they were causing, and not with the Shawnee, who now saw you as part of the problem. You were caught between two worlds, and neither one wanted you.
---
The Aftermath
You walked through the settlement, avoiding eye contact with the others. A few of them nodded at you, Samuel even flashed a smug grin. He was proud of what they'd done, proud that they'd "sent a message." To him, it was a victory. To you, it felt like a betrayal of everything you stood for.
John found you near the well, sitting on the rough wooden edge, staring down at the still water. He sat beside you in silence for a while before he spoke.
"Things are gonna be different now," he said, his voice low and grave.
You didn't respond at first. The anger simmered in your gut, but it wasn't anger at John specifically. It was anger at all of it—the settlers, the Shawnee, yourself for not doing more.
"I don't think you understand what's coming," you finally said, your voice hollow. "You think that raid was the end of it? You think they'll just back down now?"
John sighed heavily, his face grim. "I know this ain't over. But what were we supposed to do, Caleb? Let 'em take what's ours?"
"They didn't take anything," you shot back, your voice rising. "We're the ones taking from them, every day. Their land, their resources, their way of life. And now this? Burning their homes? That wasn't a message, that was a declaration of war."
John didn't flinch, but his eyes darkened. "They don't see it that way. They see us as invaders, yeah, but you know what, Caleb? We are. This land wasn't ours to begin with, but we're here now, and we've got families to feed. You've seen the world we came from. There's no going back. We've got no choice but to make it work here."
You stood up, shaking your head. "There's always a choice. You just don't want to see it."
Without waiting for his response, you walked away, your footsteps heavy on the dirt path. John didn't follow. He knew there was no talking you down this time.
---
A Cold Distance
The next few days passed in a blur of labor and strained silence. You kept your distance from Samuel and his group, but it didn't matter. The settlers were emboldened by the raid, and it was clear that they saw it as a step toward securing their future. More land was being cleared, more cabins built. They were expanding fast, pushing further into the forest, into Shawnee territory.
But you knew the Shawnee weren't going to let this stand. You hadn't seen Elk Eye since the attack, but you felt the weight of his people's absence. The Shawnee were watching, waiting, and you knew they were preparing for something.
One night, unable to sleep, you grabbed your bag and made your way into the forest, leaving the settlement behind. You needed to see for yourself what was happening, needed to find Elk Eye and try to salvage whatever was left of your relationship with the Shawnee. Maybe it was foolish to think you could make things right, but you had to try.
The moon was barely visible through the thick canopy of trees as you made your way deeper into the forest. The familiar sounds of the woods at night—crickets, the occasional rustle of leaves—were a comfort, a reminder that the world was still alive, even as human conflict tore at its edges.
As you approached the Shawnee village, you could feel the tension in the air. The usual quiet murmur of voices was gone. The village was silent, save for the crackling of a few dying fires. You walked slowly, cautiously, toward the center of the village, where Elk Eye often sat with the elders.
He was there, as you'd expected, but the look on his face when he saw you sent a chill down your spine. The warmth, the respect you'd once earned, was gone. In its place was a cold, unyielding stare.
"I came to talk," you said, keeping your voice low. "I didn't know the settlers would—"
"You are one of them," Elk Eye interrupted, his voice flat. "You cannot say you did not know."
"I'm not," you insisted, but even as you said the words, you knew they rang hollow. You were one of them, whether you wanted to be or not. The settlers didn't trust you fully, but you lived among them, worked with them. And to the Shawnee, that was enough.
Elk Eye stood, towering over you. "The time for words is over. You came with them, you bring their sickness, their greed. The land suffers because of you."
Your stomach twisted. You could hear the truth in his words, could feel the weight of your actions—your presence—on the land around you. The forest had changed, the animals were scarcer, the river's flow disrupted. The Shawnee had lived here for generations, and they had seen the effects of the settlers' arrival far more clearly than you had.
"I'm trying to help," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
Elk Eye shook his head. "You cannot help. You cannot undo what has been done."
He turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the village. The other Shawnee stared at you with the same cold indifference. You were no longer a guest, no longer an outsider with strange knowledge. You were just another settler.
---
Alone in the Wilderness
You left the village, your heart heavy, and made your way back into the forest. The cold night air bit at your skin, but you didn't care. You didn't belong with the settlers, and now you didn't belong with the Shawnee either. You were caught between two worlds, and neither one wanted you.
The forest, once a place of solace, now felt hostile, indifferent. The trees seemed to close in around you as you walked, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. You kept moving, though you had no real destination in mind. You just needed to keep moving, to put distance between yourself and the settlement, between yourself and the Shawnee.
As dawn broke, you found yourself at the river's edge, the water moving sluggishly between the rocks. You sat down on the bank, staring out at the water, your mind racing. The future you had envisioned when you first arrived—of coexistence, of sharing knowledge—felt impossibly far away now. The reality of this world, of the people in it, was far harsher than you had imagined.
You were alone.
---
A Decision
Hours passed as you sat by the river, the sun climbing higher in the sky. You knew you couldn't stay out here forever. You needed to make a choice: go back to the settlers, try to mend the broken trust with the Shawnee, or strike out on your own.
But the idea of returning to the settlement filled you with dread. The settlers would see you as a traitor if they knew you'd gone to the Shawnee. And the Shawnee... they didn't want your help anymore. They saw you as part of the problem, not the solution.
Maybe it was time to leave, to find a new path. You had the skills, the tools from your time. You could survive on your own if you had to. But surviving wasn't the same as living. Without people, without purpose, what was the point?
The river flowed steadily before you, indifferent to the human struggles around it. You thought of the future you'd come from—the technology, the knowledge you had—and wondered what use any of it was here, in this world where everything seemed to be falling apart. The tools of the future couldn't mend the broken relationships of the past, and no amount of technology could change the nature of people—selfish, fearful, clinging to power at all costs.
As the hours passed and the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest, you made your decision. You couldn't return to the settlers. They were too entrenched in their ways, too blind to see beyond their own survival. You'd seen it in their eyes after the raid—this was just the beginning for them. They would keep expanding, keep taking, until there was nothing left. And the Shawnee? They would fight back with everything they had. It would be war, a bloody and unforgiving one.
No, you wouldn't be part of that. You couldn't.
But leaving didn't mean abandoning everything. You still had your knowledge, your skills. There had to be another way, a path where you could use what you knew to survive without aligning with either side. Maybe you couldn't change the world, but you could live in it—on your own terms.
---
Into the Wild
The decision brought a strange sense of clarity. You'd spent so much time trying to mediate between two worlds, but now that you were free from that burden, the way forward seemed clearer. You gathered your supplies, checked your bag for the tools you'd managed to salvage, and took one last look at the river.
Then you stood, shouldering your bag, and started walking. You didn't have a destination in mind—just a sense of moving away from the conflict, away from the settlers, away from the Shawnee. Somewhere out there, in the vast wilderness, there had to be a place where you could survive, where you could carve out a life without being pulled into the violence that seemed inevitable between the two sides.
As you walked, the forest grew denser, the underbrush thicker. The trees here were older, taller, their branches forming a canopy that blocked out much of the fading sunlight. It was quieter here, too—no signs of human life, just the sounds of nature. Birds calling to each other from high above, the rustle of small animals in the leaves.
You walked until the light began to fade, and then you made camp near a small clearing. You weren't far from the river, but far enough that the sound of its flow was a distant murmur. As you built a small fire, using the skills you'd learned in the days since arriving in this strange past, you found a strange sense of peace settling over you.
For the first time in days, you felt like you were making your own choices—not reacting to others, not trying to fix things that couldn't be fixed. Just surviving, on your own terms.
As the fire crackled and the night closed in around you, you thought of the Shawnee village, of Elk Eye's cold stare, and of the settlers back in their cabins, huddled around their fires, convinced they were on the right path. Maybe you couldn't change them. Maybe it was foolish to think you ever could.
But here, in the wilderness, you didn't need to.
---
A New Resolve
The next morning, you woke with a clearer mind. The decision to strike out on your own had solidified something within you—a determination not just to survive, but to thrive in this world. You had the knowledge, the skills. You could build something here, something that didn't rely on the settlers' greed or the Shawnee's distrust.
The day was spent moving deeper into the forest. You'd need to find a source of food, clean water, and shelter. These things weren't foreign to you anymore. In the days since you'd arrived, you'd learned how to forage, how to hunt, how to build simple structures from the materials around you. The tools you'd brought with you from the future—the batteries, the wires, the small gadgets—would help, but you knew they were only temporary solutions.
Soon enough, you'd have to rely on the skills you'd learned here in the past.
The first sign of a new opportunity came in the form of a narrow stream, flowing clear and cold through the underbrush. You followed it for a while, and soon found what you were looking for—a small, secluded valley, ringed by trees and fed by the stream. It was far enough from both the settlers and the Shawnee that you wouldn't be easily found, but close enough to both that you could still keep an eye on things, if necessary.
Here, you could build something new. A place where you could live by your own rules, where you could use your knowledge to thrive without the interference of others.
---
Building a Life
The days turned into weeks, and you slowly began to carve out a life in the valley. You built a small shelter using wood from the surrounding forest, reinforcing it with stones and mud to keep out the elements. It wasn't much, but it was sturdy, and it gave you a place to rest.
You used your tools sparingly, knowing that they wouldn't last forever. The 18650 batteries helped you power a few small devices—your flashlight, a makeshift radio you'd salvaged—but you relied more and more on the skills you'd learned in the past. You fashioned tools from stone and wood, learned how to trap small animals for food, and how to preserve what you caught so it would last through the colder months.
As the weeks passed, the forest began to feel like home. You still thought of the Shawnee, of Elk Eye and his people, and you wondered if they were preparing for the inevitable conflict with the settlers. But you also knew that you couldn't involve yourself in that anymore. You were done trying to fix what couldn't be fixed.
You'd found a new way forward—a life that was yours alone, away from the greed and violence that seemed to consume everyone else.
---
An Unexpected Visitor
It was late one afternoon when you heard the sound of footsteps approaching your camp. You froze, your hand instinctively going to the small knife you kept at your side. Visitors were rare in this part of the forest, and you weren't sure if you were ready to face whoever was coming.
The figure that emerged from the trees wasn't a settler, nor was it a Shawnee warrior. It was a woman, dressed in a mix of animal hides and fabric, her face lined with age and hardship. She moved with a slow, deliberate grace, her eyes scanning the camp as if taking in every detail.
"You live here?" she asked, her voice rough but curious.
You nodded, unsure of what to say. She didn't seem like a threat, but out here, you couldn't be too careful.
She walked closer, her eyes lingering on the small devices you had scattered around—your fire starter, the remains of a solar panel you'd tried to repair.
"You're not like the others," she said, her voice softening. "Not like the ones who burn and take."
"No," you said, shaking your head. "I'm not."
The woman sat down by the fire, uninvited but somehow welcome. "Good. There's been enough of that."
For a long time, the two of you sat in silence, the fire crackling between you. You didn't know who she was, or why she was here, but in that moment, it didn't matter. She was someone who understood, someone who had seen the same things you had, and for the first time in a long while, you didn't feel so alone.
---
A New Path
The woman stayed for a few days, sharing stories of the land, of the people who lived here long before the settlers arrived. She spoke of balance, of living with the land rather than taking from it. You listened, absorbing her words, and for the first time, you felt like you understood what your place in this world could be.
When she left, you didn't feel the same sense of loss you'd felt before. You knew you were on the right path now—one that didn't involve siding with either the settlers or the Shawnee, but finding your own way, a way that respected the land and the people who had come before you.
The days grew shorter, the nights colder, but you were ready. You had found a new way to live in this world, and for the first time since arriving, you felt at peace.