Sixty-two

Rationalising pain never makes it any easier to endure, simply because it still hurts the fucking same.

On elbows and knees, I manage to get to the shrub, that will become my next meal.

Plucking a handful of leaves, from where I'm sitting on all fours, still not on the shore but not quite yet out of the water, I stuff in my mouth like a greedy herbivore.

Bitter, and a tinge of sourness coupled with the stringy texture, that chafes the inside of cheeks is far from a feast but it will have to do for now.

I'm in no condition to hunt and the scant trees or any other type of plant that can be used for hunting diminishes my hopes of eating a substantial meal anytime soon.

I'm no stranger when it comes to hunger, I've survived it once, and I can do it again.

With one last effort, I drag myself out of the water and perch myself next to the shrub, pluck a leaf and stuff it into my mouth, while my eyes survey the valley. One way in, one way out, unless I sprout wings in the next few minutes.

I look downstream and see more of the same, rough terrain with sharp rocks jutting out of the ground, and it feels like I've landed on an alien planet. Perhaps, I have. Who to say that I haven't?

After I've plucked the shrub off its leaves, stashing a few in my soaked pockets for later, I begin my journey.

Careful not to touch the spikes, I weave with the dexterity of a newborn calf, bumping into the unforgiving spikes. Adding to the already countless cuts on my skin. What's a few more when there are so many?

The sounds of rushing water gradually fade, as I leave behind the waterfall, giving me hope that I can make it out of the valley in one piece.

That hope dies an early death when I look up and before me lies yet another valley, sitting hundreds of feet lower than the one I'm currently in.

I look behind me, and finally piece together the dreary picture. It appears that I'm standing on a plateau. One of many.

The valley is structured very much like a set of stairs, and I'm on the top tier. Fantastic.

I should kill the mutt for doing this to me, but I'm not yet sure whether this is an independent decision or one that has been influenced by external factors.

Right about now, I would kill for a proper meal, probably something many have done after being brought to the brink of despair. Sadly there is nothing to kill.

I trudge to the edge of the plateau and look down to see what's waiting for me below.

To my dismay, it is more of the same, only these are slightly more eroded and thankfully not as sharp as the previous ones.

I can't decide whether is better to die impaled or by blunt force trauma.

Effectively drained, I plop myself on the edge of the plateau and watch as the last light of the day slowly wanes, as the sun fully sinks behind the horizon.

It will be a long night but I'll have to make do. My only relief is that it isn't winter and I won't have to worry about freezing overnight. It's not summer yet, but beggars can't be choosers.

I look around trying to find some cover, where I can sleep without having to worry about rolling off to my demise while I try to catch a wink of sleep.

I spot a little nook between two rocks, and I make my way there dragging my aching limbs over the rugged ground, tripping over my own two feet here and there, as I finally reach my resting place.

I settle between the rocks, using my hands as a pillow, and feel as the cold from the rocks seeps in, stealing the little warmth I have left.

The rushing water lulls me to sleep eventually. A fitful one. I slip in and out, worried and somewhat expectant of a wild animal to come in search of his next meal.

It is one of the moments where survival instincts are on high alert. The adrenaline rushing through my body doesn't help getting the rest I so desperately need.

Nothing happens for hours. Until an unfortunate creeper tickles my hand.

I jump up trying to find the intruder but since it's the middle of the night, I can't see a damn thing.

Whatever it is, it must've run away when I jumped up. I guess we scared each other off.

I lie back down and try again, to get some rest, until the sound of claws scraping against stone, and something sniffing the air starless me awake.

It's almost dawn.

I don't move. I don't breathe.

Whatever it is, either is going to be my next meal or I, his. Survival of the fittest.

And sadly for me, I'm not in my fittest condition.

But it does offer something else. A way out of the valley other than jumping off a cliff.

Surely he didn't climb up those walls. So there must be another way.

I just need to find it. What if I don't become a snack?

Something cold and wet touches my shin, then something warm, wet and sandpapery scrapes against my skin, on the deep gash that runs along my tibia. Of course, how stupid of me. How did I think that bleeding all over the place wouldn't attract wild animals?

I suppress the urge to get up and run, or scream. I lie there motionless, trying to figure out how to approach a wild animal.

If I startle it two things might happen. He could either run or attack me.

I need to follow it if it runs and takes the same path. Hopefully, perhaps find a way out of this place without stumbling for days into the darkness.

Something soft touches my knee, and I don't have to see it to know its fur.

Slowly, I pry open one eye to take a sneak peek at my fury friend.

With my heart in my throat, and my stomach knotted so tightly I summon the courage to face whatever is waiting for me once I sit up.