The morning began like nothing could go wrong, as if the forest itself was trying to lull me into a false sense of safety. I woke slowly, blinking against the soft light seeping through the canopy, my body stiff from sleeping on the hard ground but more rested than I had felt in days. For once, nothing hurt badly enough to keep me from moving, and I decided that today, instead of hunting or repairing or endlessly worrying about survival, I deserved something different, something simple—a treat. Rabbit and venison had filled my stomach enough, and water had kept me alive, but my body craved sweetness, a reminder of normal life. So I decided to look for berries. The thought made me smile faintly, like a kid sneaking a piece of candy. I started walking through the forest, ears tuned to the songs of the birds and the gentle crunch of leaves under my boots. The air was crisp, smelling faintly of pine and damp soil, and it reminded me of when my dad used to take me camping, when the forest wasn't a prison but a playground. I searched, scanning the ground and bushes carefully, until I spotted them—dark red berries clustered thickly on low bushes, ripe and ready. My stomach growled at the sight, and I crouched, carefully plucking a few, rolling them between my fingers before popping them into my mouth. Sweet, tart, juicy. My lips and fingertips were stained red, but I didn't care. For a few minutes I let myself indulge, filling my hands, eating one for every few I gathered, feeling like maybe the forest had decided to give me a gift instead of another trial. That was when I heard it—the low, rushing roar. At first, I thought it was wind sweeping through the trees, but the sound grew steadier, heavier, almost vibrating the ground. My heart leapt, because I knew that sound. Water. A lot of water. My pulse quickened as I pushed through the trees, following it, until the forest suddenly opened up and I was standing at the edge of something I had not seen since the fire—the river. Wide, fast, and wild, it surged over rocks, foaming and glittering in the sun, so loud it drowned out my breath. I froze, staring, a thrill running through me. A river meant fresh water, a potential food source, maybe even a path to follow. A river meant life. I wanted to run straight in, to throw myself at the possibility, but I held back. I wasn't stupid. I had learned enough by now to know that rushing in could kill me. So I turned and hurried back to camp, every step alive with energy, because for the first time in days, I felt hope. Back at my camp, I grabbed my backpack and carefully loaded everything I thought I might need. My spear, in case I spotted fish or something else worth hunting. My water purifier, because even though the river looked clear, I knew I couldn't risk drinking without it. My first aid kit was tucked securely inside because I had learned how quickly injuries could turn bad. My flashlight, because I didn't know how long I'd stay or what might happen. My fire starter, one of the most important tools I had left, was always packed first. And finally, some of those freeze-dried food packages—lightweight, weird, but reliable, the kind of thing I'd always avoided eating until now, but something told me they might be my backup if things went wrong. I double-checked every item, strapping the bag tightly, proud of myself for once, because I wasn't just surviving, I was preparing. Maybe, I thought, I could sit by the river like a normal person and just breathe. When I returned, the sound of the water seemed louder, wilder. The river churned with power, so fast it was almost frightening, but my excitement numbed the fear. I set my backpack down on a flat rock near the bank, gripping my spear, crouching to watch the current. I waited, scanning for a flash of silver beneath the surface, imagining myself pulling out fish with practiced ease. I thought of my dad again, of him showing me how to cast lines and gut trout, his voice calm and steady, and for a moment I almost felt like he was there with me. I leaned forward, just a little too far, and that was when it happened. The faint scrape of fabric sliding across stone froze me. I turned my head in time to see my backpack shift, then tumble over the edge into the rushing current. For half a second I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Then everything inside me snapped. "No!" I screamed, throwing myself toward the water, reaching as if my fingers could stretch farther to catch it before it disappeared. The weight of everything inside dragged it down immediately, pulling it under, but the current tossed it back up, spinning it like a toy, carrying it away. I splashed into the river without thinking, the freezing water biting into my legs, almost sweeping me off my feet. I lunged, arms outstretched, my spear clattering into the rocks behind me. The pack bobbed once, twice, before the current ripped it further, faster. I chased it, stumbling, the water climbing higher, my boots slipping on slick stones. I screamed again, my voice raw, my throat burning, but I didn't care. All that mattered was that backpack. My life was in there. My supplies. My safety. Everything I had worked for. The current slammed against me, knocking me sideways, sucking me down until my head went under. I clawed back up, coughing and sputtering, and saw the pack just ahead. I threw myself toward it, my fingers brushing against the strap for one fleeting second before the river ripped it away again. "No, no, no!" I cried, flailing after it, every muscle screaming. I scraped my arms against rocks and cut my knees open, but I didn't stop. I chased it down the bank, stumbling, splashing, the roar of the river drowning everything else out. The further I ran, the more frantic I became, screaming at the water like it could hear me, begging, cursing, and sobbing. My body ached, my lungs burned, but I didn't care. I tripped over roots and crashed through branches, tearing my clothes and ripping my skin, until I couldn't tell where the blood ended and the river spray began. My backpack spun once more, far ahead, and then disappeared around a bend, gone forever. I collapsed to my knees on the shore, my chest heaving, sobs ripping out of me, loud and broken. I slammed my fists into the dirt, clawed at the ground, and screamed until my throat tore. My backpack was gone. My spear, my purifier, my food, my fire starter. My first aid kit. Everything I had left, everything that kept me alive, washed away in seconds. My stomach twisted, panic seizing me as I realized what that meant. No supplies. No safety. Nothing. I looked around desperately, trying to recognize something, anything, that would guide me back to camp. But nothing looked familiar. The trees were different here, the rocks strange, the river a stranger's face. In chasing the pack, I had run too far. I was lost. I stumbled forward, trying to retrace my steps, but every direction looked the same. I spun in circles, gasping, tears streaming down my face, and I screamed again, hoarse and broken, calling for help that I knew would never come. My hands shook uncontrollably. My mind spun with terror. The forest tilted, blurred, until I thought I might faint. I dropped back down, curling into myself, sobbing until my whole body trembled. The weight of it crushed me—the reality that I had lost everything. Minutes, maybe hours, passed. My throat was raw, my face sticky with tears. Finally, I lifted my head, wiping my eyes with shaking hands, and forced myself to breathe. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't sit in the dirt and wait to die. I had to move. I dragged myself to my feet, legs weak, and looked around one last time. That was when I saw it—through the trees, towering on the horizon, a mountain. Jagged, dark, immovable. Unlike the forest, unlike the twisting paths and shifting rivers, it was something that could not disappear. My heart pounded, weak but steady. If I couldn't find my camp, if I couldn't recover my supplies, then I had to find something else. A way out. A direction that made sense. The mountain became my anchor. I clenched my fists, still shaking, my body broken, but I whispered to myself, "You're not done. Not yet." My feet carried me forward, one painful step at a time, away from the river that had stolen everything, away from the grief, and toward the mountain. The forest had taken everything from me, but it hadn't taken my will. And as long as I had that, I had a chance.
