Change of Direction Prt 1

I lay on the makeshift fur bed I made myself last night, resting on my stomach lazily with a good size of the pelt over the top of me, hands crossed under my chin as I watch the early morning birds peck at the scraps I left on my cooking stone. Dancing around and merrily, eating what little I left behind. The fire has long smoldered out and everything around me is dewy with early morning moisture. Everything still, and peaceful, in the morning glow of a newly rising sun, and oddly still. I made it through another night, and I’m still here, waking with a better mood with every day this pans out.

I didn’t find a cave or shelter last night, so curled up in the bear pelt, that took me a full four days to scrape and clean and dry out in the sun on the hottest rocks I could find. I’m no expert in tanning, or preserving pelts, but it works enough, even if it’s a bit stiff and smelly, and it’s worth lugging with me every day, despite the added bulk and wei