The morning sun reached through the trees, casting soft light onto the riverbank where Caleb lay, his breaths shallow and labored. The pain had dulled to a low, constant ache, but his body felt heavy, his mind clouded in an unshakable fog. When he managed to sit up, it took every ounce of strength to push away the dizziness, but he could at least see the river flowing gently beside him, no longer the raging torrent that had carried him so far downstream.
Days had passed since the encounter with the silent, bone-clad figures, though he wasn't entirely sure how many. Time had slipped into a haze of pain, hunger, and exhaustion. As he sat there, he touched the dark, charred scars where he had burned his wounds shut, fingers tracing the rough skin with a grim satisfaction. He'd done what he needed to survive—but for what? The question lingered with him as he forced himself to his feet, legs trembling beneath his weight.
Instinct drove him to keep moving, but his heart felt heavier with each step. Memories of his old life drifted to the surface, clearer now than they had been since he arrived in this place. The familiar weight of the modern conveniences he missed—things like warm showers, the hum of city life, even a simple, comfortable bed. How foolish he'd been to think he could find meaning out here, alone, beyond what anyone else had ever endured. A bitter smile twisted his lips as he remembered those early days, the naive bravado he'd carried with him.
Walking slowly, he used a stick to balance himself, realizing with each painful step how much he'd taken for granted. Simple, small moments had meant so little back then—like standing at the corner coffee shop with friends, laughing over something trivial. In a life that now felt so distant, he'd been too busy to appreciate them, too distracted by things that now seemed petty and empty. It was hard to believe he hadn't always been this person, struggling to survive with whatever he could scavenge.
As he limped through the sparse forest, he noticed fresh animal tracks, signs of game that once would've excited him. But now, he could hardly muster the strength to pursue them. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he knew that whatever strength he had left wouldn't last long. Still, he pushed on, picking up small plants and berries when he saw them. Food wasn't just scarce—it was nearly impossible to gather in his condition. If he were to survive, it would take a miracle.
In a clearing not far from the river, he came upon the remnants of a small campfire, long since abandoned, with faint embers still clinging to life. The thought of people nearby sent a chill through him. After what he'd endured, the idea of strangers filled him with both hope and dread. Part of him longed to call out, to see if anyone might respond. But another part remembered the figures from before, the skull masks, the arrows, and the quiet malice in their eyes. His throat closed up, and he quickly buried any desire to find others. Instead, he moved on, alone, as he had come to expect.
At the edge of the forest, he found a rocky outcropping, shielded enough to offer shelter from the cold night air. With a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the stone, wincing as his wounds throbbed. Resting his back against the rock, he watched as the sun dipped lower, casting deep shadows across the landscape. This world was harsh and unforgiving, but he could not deny the beauty in it. The wind rustled the leaves, the river continued to flow peacefully, and the birds called out in the fading light.
Looking out over the landscape, he thought of the lessons he'd learned out here. There had been wisdom in the Shawnee way of life, in the way they treated the land as sacred, respecting its cycles and gifts. His modern world had never shown him such reverence. Out here, he'd learned the value of patience, of understanding the land rather than imposing upon it. Yet, that respect hadn't saved him. In his heart, he knew he'd lost a deeper connection to himself by leaving his old life behind. He'd thrown it away in his arrogance, and now he would pay for it, alone.
As the cold crept in, he adjusted his meager coverings, pulling them tighter around him. He thought of his family, of friends he hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity. If he could only go back, he'd tell them the things he'd never had the courage to say—how much he appreciated them, how grateful he was for the warmth of companionship, even the smallest moments of shared laughter.
Closing his eyes, he let those thoughts comfort him, his breathing steadying as the night settled in around him. In the silence, he realized he wasn't as alone as he'd thought. These memories, these regrets—they were all he had left, but they were real. They gave him something to hold on to, even as the world around him slipped further from his grasp.