Survival Mechanics (unfinished)

By Winn

…Mark knew he had what he needed in his inventory-- no, on his person. His meager belongings were only within his pockets, his bag. Those were certainly separate weren’t they?

And yet when he longed for his hatchet, he found his hand creep toward his pocket, and slide around the curve of its handle. A pocket far too small for a hatchet. There were no illusions as to how it got in there, it simply was. He stood there for quite a while just gripping the thing, afraid to pull it out.

“R…right then,” he said, removing the tool from its unlikely storage. “At least it’s convenient.”

He marched on through the thick of the bushes and grass, unsure of his footing. This was River of Leaves, as the world had told Mark, and it was awfully boring. Just a narrow, winding path of plants nestled between a cliff’s edge and a steep hill. And unlike an actual river, there were no fish to abate the growling of his stomach.

Twenty Percent was the phrase he heard as he considered his state. He groaned in annoyance, still not quite used to the intrusions. Was that how…hungry he was, or how little he could suffer onwards? His own brain had supplied the metric, surely it could elaborate. …Please.

Hunger. Great, another pithy enlightenment. He stopped forcing his way through the growth and paused to assess his surroundings. There were leaves, plenty of them, but that wasn't much of anything. Berries maybe, if he could find the right kind of bush, but who’s to say it wouldn't be poisonous? With nothing in the immediate area he pressed onwards.