On the sixth day, the shelter was constructed.

The morning temperature was just right. As I walked along, I felt no fatigue whatsoever. Today, I planned to go to the other side of the mountain, because from the summit I had seen a small river cutting through the entire forest. Traversing the woods was truly difficult—I already knew this from my previous experience. So, I tried my best to follow the edge of the forest.

Suddenly, a dark shadow darted not far ahead of me, startling me greatly. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a clear look. It served as a warning: if I encountered a fierce beast unarmed, wouldn’t that be disastrous? So I turned back and found a sturdy branch, gripping it tightly in my hand. My heart settled a little.

I moved forward, tense and vigilant. Dense tree canopies blocked the light, and sunbeams filtered through the leaves in slender rays. Silence reigned. Only the rustle of my feet on moist leaves accompanied my progress. A chill crept into my heart.

A sudden call—“quaa”—made me jump. It was only a bird, after all. When the sun rose overhead, I reached the river I’d seen from the mountaintop. The water still flowed, making its way toward the distant sea. The river teemed with fish struggling upstream. I was excited—they were huge, bigger than both of my hands put together. Yet I wasn’t particularly hungry, so I continued along the river’s path.

My choice proved wise. Near the sea, I discovered a clearing—not very large, perhaps two or three hundred square meters. What thrilled me was its gentle rise, devoid of towering trees around, the entire area resembling an upside-down pot set on the ground. On the right side of the clearing stood a few fruit trees, identical to the ones I had eaten from by the small pool before.

Food, water, a clearing—I had no reason to refuse. I decided to build my shelter here, with my own hands.

The first problem was materials. I didn’t want to gather dry leaves; they attracted insects. I also truly didn’t want to sleep on the filthy ground anymore. More than once, I’d awoken to find tiny bugs shaken from my body. In the forest, I selected several dried branches as thick as my arm, each about a meter long.

After piling them in the center of the clearing, I went off to find some vines. I dragged over a few fallen, dead saplings as well. Then I began to build. I inserted the thick branches into small holes I’d dug—about twenty centimeters deep—covered them with soil, and tamped it down. In the end, each pair of branches crossed one another and were firmly anchored in the earth, forming four crossed sets in a rectangle.

Next, I placed two small trees atop the crossed branches. I tried sitting— the branches held my weight. Perfect. Though only a rough frame, I was satisfied. I could picture myself lying on it once finished. Now, I needed more branches to lay across the saplings. There were plenty, but few matched in thickness; after searching for a long time, I gave up on being picky. I arranged the branches, bound them with vines for reinforcement.

A bed began to take shape: four legs firmly rooted, two saplings spanning above, and branches laid across the middle. Gently, I lifted my legs and lay down.

A creak sounded. Luckily, it didn’t collapse. I was content—succeeding on the first try. It was a bit hard and uneven; lying too long might be uncomfortable, but at least I was off the ground. I’d need to find something soft to cover it, I thought.

Ideally, it would be dry grass, but none was available. Or the large leaves from coconut palms, yet I didn’t want to climb trees now—it would waste time. In the end, I settled for leaves from thorny saplings, which were easier to gather. Before long, I brought back a huge pile. After several trips, I layered them thickly.

Trying it out once more, many leaves slid to the edges and fell with a soft rustle. Much better, I thought.

Busy work made time fly. Unnoticed, the sun was nearly setting, which made me anxious. I hurried to the riverbank, jumped into the shin-deep water, and drank my fill.

The water was shallow and full of fish; they weren’t afraid, brushing past my legs as they pressed upstream. I thought I could easily catch a few, but my assumption was wrong—their strength was astonishing, several even slammed into my face, making it ache. In the end, a hapless one fell into my grasp.

At first, I thought these might be salmon, but upon closer inspection, they were a species I didn’t recognize. No matter—as long as they were edible, there was no need to dwell on it. Using both hands and teeth, I opened the fish’s belly, cleared out the innards, washed it in the river, and skewered it on a branch.

Night had already fallen. After gathering a few more fruits, I returned to the clearing and lit a fire. The fish was large and took a long time to roast. Fat sizzled and dripped, sending waves of aroma through the air. Finally, it was done. The flavor was mediocre, but the meat plentiful—yet so bland.

Lately, the absence of salt had made me restless, to the point where I considered drinking seawater. Apparently, salt was addictive. I resolved to find something salty tomorrow, thinking about it as I ate the fish.

Afterward, I supplemented my meal with a few fruits, feeling completely full. Lying on my newly crafted “bed,” I felt uneasy. I began to hate the night. Today, loneliness weighed on me unbearably—I wished desperately for someone to talk to. Solitude made me feel as though I were floating in a vacuum, unable to breathe.

Perhaps tomorrow I should add a roof above this “bed,” I suddenly thought. Yes, a fence around the area as well, even just some stakes. And the black shadow glimpsed in the woods—I still didn’t know what it was, only that it was sizable, perhaps as big as a young deer.

Except for the days when exhaustion overwhelmed me, my mind always grew especially active at night. The more so, the lonelier and more helpless I felt. My thoughts ran wild, offering no help to my current situation. I feared I might lose sleep…

Wait a little longer; surely they’re still searching for me.

No, there’s no need to wait—they won’t find me.

…

Lost in thought, I eventually drifted off.

After falling asleep, I woke once—I thought I saw a shadow nearby. But when I startled upright, there was nothing to be found.

…