The sun was already high in the sky when Caleb's eyes finally blinked open. His body felt heavy, limbs stiff from a restless night of constant interruption. The familiar sounds of morning—birds chirping, wind rustling through the trees—were absent. The silence of the day pressed down on him, amplifying the weight of his thoughts.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and instinctively reached for his knife. His muscles tensed as memories of the night before flooded back—the footsteps, the ominous sounds, and the eerie sense of being watched. The air inside the shelter felt thick, as if it still held the weight of the unseen presence from the darkness.
Midday already, he realized with a start. He'd overslept. But after the relentless paranoia of last night, it wasn't surprising. He felt drained, as if he hadn't slept at all.
Caleb glanced toward the shelter's entrance. A part of him didn't want to leave the safety of the walls. What if they were still out there? What if the night's warning wasn't over? His mind whirled with doubt, but he knew he couldn't stay inside forever. This was his home now, and whatever—whoever—was out there, he had to face it.
He took a deep breath, grabbed his knife, and steeled himself. The weight of the blade in his hand was a small comfort, though it felt almost laughable against an enemy that hadn't even shown itself. He stood and pushed open the door, stepping outside into the sunlight, his body on high alert.
The air was still. Too still.
Caleb scanned the tree line, every bush, every shadow, looking for any sign of movement, any trace of his unwelcome visitors. But there was nothing. Only the empty forest, quiet and indifferent.
His eyes drifted to the ground. There, just a few feet from the shelter, was another stone. Small, round, and smooth—just like the others.
Damn it, he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up inside him. He crouched down, picking it up, turning it over in his hand as if expecting it to reveal some hidden meaning. But it was just a stone. He tossed it aside, his mind wrestling with the absurdity of it all. Whoever—or whatever—had left it was toying with him. Testing him.
But they were gone. For now.
Caleb exhaled slowly, tension slipping from his shoulders. With no immediate threat, he resolved to take it easy for the day. After the mental toll of last night, he knew it would be foolish to push himself too hard. Today, the camp would be his boundary. No venturing out into the woods, no gathering supplies beyond what he already had. Safety, at least for today, came first.
He made his way to the firepit, scraping together the remnants of wood he'd gathered the day before. With practiced ease, he sparked a flame and set to making a quick breakfast from the meager supplies he had left—a chunk of dried meat, some water heated to mix with leftover roots he'd foraged weeks ago.
As the small meal sizzled over the flame, his thoughts drifted back to last night.
Who were they? He still had no answers. The Shawnee? Unlikely. His previous encounters with them had felt...different. There had been a sense of respect, even in their distance. These visitors, though—there was no respect, only cold, calculated warning. And the stones...it was like they were marking him, reminding him he was being watched, judged, weighed.
But for what? Was it a game to them, or something more sinister? He stared into the fire, the flickering flames mirroring the uncertainty that burned in his chest.
After finishing breakfast, Caleb stood and surveyed the camp. His camp. He'd come so far since those early days, when it was nothing but a few logs and hastily built shelter. Now, it had taken on the shape of something...more permanent. More like a home.
The perimeter was still crude, mostly marked by makeshift barriers of logs and brush to ward off any animals—or visitors—that might stray too close. His shelter, though small, had grown more secure over time. The patchwork of wood and hides that formed its walls now insulated him from the worst of the elements. He'd even managed to create a rudimentary chimney for smoke to escape through. It wasn't much by modern standards, but out here, it was an accomplishment.
He walked around the camp, checking everything as he went, assessing what still needed improvement. The firepit was functional, but he could make it more efficient—perhaps dig it out deeper, create a stone surround to contain the heat better. His tools were in decent condition, though he was running low on basic supplies like string and sinew. His water collection system was simple but effective—gutters made from carved wood funneled rainwater into a large basin, though it was in need of reinforcement.
He thought about the cabin he was slowly constructing. The foundation was laid, sturdy logs set into the ground to mark the corners, but he had a long way to go. The walls were barely half-built, and he hadn't even started on the roof. It was slow, grueling work, but each log that was placed, each joint that was fitted, brought him one step closer to real shelter. Real protection.
It was progress, but it still felt too vulnerable. Too open. The events of last night had only confirmed what he already knew—he needed more security. More protection from whatever was out there. He couldn't afford to be complacent.
After surveying his camp, Caleb's mind kept returning to the strange visitors from the night before. The stones, the silent warnings—they lingered in his thoughts like a heavy shadow. He could almost feel their eyes on him, even now in the daylight. The paranoia gnawed at him, despite the stillness of the forest.
For a moment, Caleb contemplated leaving everything behind. Just walking away from the camp, the strange stones, and whatever was haunting him in the night. But where would he go? There was no real escape, and deep down, he knew it. This was his life now. He had made this choice.
He knelt down, running his hand through the dirt as he considered the future of his camp. There was still so much to do, and he needed to stay focused. The idea of making the camp more secure swirled in his mind—fortifications, traps, anything that could give him peace of mind. But how could he do it alone? Progress would be slow.
As the day wore on, Caleb busied himself with small, menial tasks—collecting firewood, cleaning up the camp, and repairing the water basin. The normalcy of the routine gave him something to focus on other than the creeping dread that settled in the back of his mind. He worked methodically, almost as if he could push the strange events from his thoughts if he just stayed busy enough.
The work felt endless, but the monotony was comforting. Each log he placed, each knot he tied, it was progress—even if slow. The camp was coming together. He still had a long way to go before it was truly a safe haven, but it was getting there. Little by little, it felt more like home.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing, Caleb finally allowed himself a break. He sat by the fire, staring into the flickering flames. His mind wandered back to the strange stones, to the unseen visitors that seemed to be stalking him. Who were they? And why now?
He had no answers, only the unease that settled deep into his bones.
As the evening deepened, the air grew colder, and Caleb could feel a chill creeping in through the cracks of his shelter. The fire outside flickered weakly, casting dim light across the camp as the last few embers burned out. He stirred the coals, watching the sparks float into the night sky before letting the fire die. There was no need to keep it burning; it was time to settle in for the night.
Caleb stepped back into his shelter, securing the makeshift door behind him. The silence inside felt heavier tonight, as if the walls themselves were closing in. He went through his nightly routine—checking the edges of his small fort, making sure his tools were in place, and that his knife was within easy reach. It was more out of habit now than actual necessity, but after everything that had happened, it gave him some small comfort.
He laid out his bedroll, the familiar creak of wood and the scent of damp earth filling the space. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, but his mind was still racing from the events of the day—and from the unsettling nights before. Caleb lay down, but sleep didn't come easily. The thoughts of the stones and the strange presence in the woods gnawed at him, refusing to let go.
He shifted restlessly in his bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling, his knife resting just inches away. It was like waiting for something—something he couldn't name but knew was there, just beyond the edge of the darkness.
His thoughts wandered to the idea of building more—strengthening his defenses, making the camp feel truly safe. It wasn't enough to just survive anymore. He needed to thrive, to make this place his, no matter what came for him in the night.
The crackle of leaves outside the shelter made him tense, his fingers instinctively curling around the hilt of the knife. He waited, listening. Silence.
Caleb exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Tomorrow, he would continue. Tomorrow, he would build something stronger. But tonight, he would rest—if only for a few fleeting hours.
He shifted on the bedroll once more, pulling the thin blanket over his shoulders, and let the exhaustion finally drag him under.
The night outside remained still, but in the back of his mind, Caleb knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.