The summit's wind tore at my hoodie, cold and unforgiving, fog curling around jagged stone like it wanted to swallow me whole, I spotted the river below, silver and glinting, a lifeline I couldn't ignore, each step down the ridge demanded focus, hands gripping slick rock, feet testing loose stones, my ribs ached from yesterday's climb, legs trembling, but I couldn't stop, one misjudged foothold and I would tumble into the mist, the fog shifted, hiding jagged drops, and I forced myself to breathe in rhythm with each careful movement. I stumbled once, scraping my palms on rough stone, heart hammering, but I kept going, eyes fixed on the ribbon of water winding through the valley, I navigated loose gravel and moss-covered rocks, muscles screaming, lungs burning, adrenaline sharp, until finally the slope leveled slightly and I could see sand and reeds lining the riverbank, I dropped to my knees, letting my fingers plunge into the cold water, the current tugging at my hands, ice biting my skin, and drank deeply, the chill washing over me and igniting a fierce pulse of life, I leaned back on my heels, scanning the area, the river wide and shallow in spots, deep and swift in others, the forest thick with shadows, every ripple in the water or rustle in the reeds making me flinch, I spotted sticks and dead limbs scattered along the bank, some long and sturdy, others thin and flexible, enough to build a small shelter, I gathered what I could carry, dragging them to a flat patch of moss and sand, testing stones and larger branches as anchors, arranging piles to make transport manageable, I knelt and began building, propping the thicker sticks at an angle against a fallen tree trunk, weaving smaller twigs between them, stacking moss along the edges to fill gaps, the fog pressing close, distant howls carrying on the wind, every sound sharp, every movement a calculation, I adjusted the lean-to again and again until it felt stable, every stick locked, every twig supporting the next, it was crude but functional, a thin wall between me and the cold, damp wilderness, I stripped leaves and moss to make bedding, arranging it carefully inside the shelter, my hands sore and scraped but steady, heart slowing as I tested the stability, imagining rain and wind trying to collapse it, I crawled inside, hugging the warm pile of moss and leaves, eyes scanning the river and surrounding shadows, listening to the whisper of water over rocks, to the groan of trees in the wind, feeling small and exposed, but alive, a flicker of control in the endless wild, tomorrow I would climb again, move higher, fish, hunt, explore, but tonight I had water, I had shelter, and I had survived another stretch of this relentless, beautiful, and dangerous wilderness.
