In the following weeks to come, there was an abundance of little lessons regarding pre-civilization survival that Rhonda discovered as she fell into a rhythm with her new forest life. Some discoveries were hard and horrid blunders that would have Mother rolling in her grave, such as walking in on two Stalkers mating. Ugh.

Fortunately, not all of Rhonda’s discoveries were hard-earned.

Some were easy enough for her to cultivate intuitively, thanks to Acclimated Survivalist. The Quirk had netted itself a place as her favorite now, furthering Rhonda’s connection with her mother’s past survival lessons. She even started expanding on the core principles with firsthand experience.

This pushed Rhonda to usher new waves of gains for herself, although these gains were not seen as an experience worthy by the System since she did not focus entirely on killing worthy enemies. Perhaps it would be noteworthy if being a survivalist was a system-designated job. Maybe that was a missed opportunity, but Rhonda was okay with that.

She lived regardless of what the system wanted. She remained resolute in her reasoning to find the easiest solutions to whatever problems that her life introduced.

Hunting enemies constantly seemed like a fruitless grind that did not exactly enhance the lifestyle she wished to live. She knew she should acquire the levels to be stronger than any threat that may come in the future. She also knew she should be focused on finding civilization and getting her own class. She was The Dark Candidate, and the System had said the Heroic Candidates would come for her.

They would want to kill her.

This had not been forgotten.

But…

Well…

Rhonda couldn’t help but detour a little.

Something different inside of her was awakened by Acclimited Survivalist. Despite the work required to live as a forest giantess, this lifestyle was… rewarding. It was… peaceful. It was… spiritual. It made her active two to three days out of the week. That was a lot of activity for Rhonda!

She figured it was necessary to be that active, especially since Londa had grown silent. She lurked on the fringes of the giantess’s mind like a phantom, only adding her input when needed. It was unnerving, but Rhonda decided to let her other half do as she pleased. Rhonda felt the time to work things out between them would arrive in the future.

Until they have that talk, Rhonda invested her focus on being a good, smart, and relaxed survivalist.

Rhonda’s most immediate task to elevate her forest experience from bumbling escapades to an organized expedition was proper camp setup. On this subject, while she was still in the initial phases, she realized she had to diverge from Mother’s teachings.

Back then, giants had culled the Brogheim forests of dangerous creatures. To have a fire going would’ve scared off many a beast. That was not the case five centuries later.

If she were to build a fire, it would have to be covered. Only the smoke would be allowed to ascend into view since she doubted it was an attractive signal to animals.

On proper camp setup day, Rhonda spent some hours scouring the creak for stones. She gathered them into a hollowed log that she cleared of protein-enriched, low-level bugs. She used the same log to carry clay-like silt she scooped up from the creek’s bank.

She gathered sap pouring out of certain trees, and she collected various flora that produced sticky substances when crushed. She did not have a mortar or pestle, but a large round fruit with a hard shell she cracked in half. After eating the sweet insides, she used the shell and an oval pebble to grind the sap and plants into a paste.

Then she mixed it with the silt, slathered it over the stones, and started practicing very crude masonry that would have her great grandfather turning in his grave. She failed half-a-dozen times before she managed to build-up a little fire hearth. It was walled up all around and open at the top. She dug out a short pit at the bottom, piled in a small pile of wood, leaves, and dried moss, and lit it with a spark of [Soft Blaze].

Just like that, she had a covered fire. She could snuff it out by piling in the dirt. There were a few holes where firelight could glow through if she needed it. She did consider there would be some heavier light that escaped from over the top. That was fine because there was more to camp setup.

On that day, Rhonda made frequent trips to old trees riddled with holes or fallen over. They were the perfect places to nab herself some grub.

On one such occasion, she ran into a Lvl 25 Beetle Matriarch who was not as friendly as the King Butterfly. One noble had to bash the other noble on a big enough rock to kill it in the end.

For a little while henceforth, Rhonda wore part of the matriarch’s shell as a sort of brooch. It was a cute reminder for her to thank the Beetle Matriarch for providing so many tasty bug babies. The insects fueled her while she made great strides in her camp fortifying efforts.

Those efforts included the rearrangement of shrubbery and brambles to conceal her site further. Then she assembled a simple lean-to against a sturdy tree with wide-spread roots. She laid down twigs in a tight circle around her site as one of her early warning signs to anything encroached on her territory.

As she worked from the morning to the evening, Rhonda practiced mindful evasive techniques to avoid being tracked.

She avoided soft soil. She learned to walk on roots. If there were no roots, she walked on gravel. She avoided areas with thick bushes, tall leaves, and shallow hanging branches to not disturb the flora heavily if she could. She was making the most out of her limited agility, and she felt it would pay dividends.

  There was a lot to do on the first active days. But it had to be done if she wanted to come to her campsite and relax with more sense of security. Now that she had Acclimated Survivalist, it would bug her if she left a stone unturned regarding her safety in a hostile environment. It would be more bothersome to ignore her intuitions in favor of laziness than to see them through and done with. She shared her thoughts on the subject using parchment and ink:

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It is nighttime now, and I’ve worked all day. I did the work that I suppose my servants and commoners would’ve done for me long ago. I am speaking to you, Parchment, as the character for it feels easier that way. Let us engage wholeheartedly in this exercise, for I am filled with many wondrous tiding no matter how it tires me.

I worked, Parchment, I worked!

It is an incredible activity to focus one’s intent on physical labor with the singular goal of improving one’s life. A life that’s hanging on a thread as those who dare to see me fall would clutch eagerly at the scissor that would snip the line. But my situation's gravity falls away from me when I let my new survivalist instincts guide me by setting things in order.

I’ve come to realize that I am not a chaotic entity. I will produce chaos when I am rudely set into a structure that is suffocating. I will be chaos incarnate when the system's orderlies come after me and think they can rule me with their swords and their fangs. But let me reiterate to you, Parchment, that I am not a chaotic entity. Not in heart.

I am building my own system right now. I am practicing the art of creation by redesigning my landscape to suit my needs. I will soon deduce how to hunt to smooth all hurdles regarding my size and speed. I know I am a little faster now, and I can catch prey unaware, but I want to design a way to achieve my meals with less effort, just like how I can search for berries or grub by knowing where to find and simply collecting them.

Speaking of grub, there was a moment where I caught myself wondering if this was horrid action. These were defenseless infant creatures, and I ate whole nests of them. As I feasted, I watched them try to squirm away, but I let none escape my hunger. Once I started, I was possessed to consume them. There came the point where I would swallow them whole rather than chew. But now that I think about it, it is quite disturbed to massacre entire infant creatures.

I still want to eat them, but I do not wish to upset the ecosystem. They all likely served as prey to many creatures. But the difference between me and other creatures is that I do not have a limited capacity for gluttony. I hate to do this to myself even though I love eating them, but I will search for a different easy-to-find breakfast source. It is a great boon to have food before starting work. I will want food when I wake in two days because I will start hunting earnestly then.

Now that I’m fancying this subject, it’s occurring to me that my choice of Acclimated Survivalist, which was based on a whim, is incredulous. The Quirk’s nature might even lend some concern to the grub. If I eat them all too fast, I would not have them readily available for when I truly need them.

How wondrous!

Perhaps I’m not truly altruistic, but I am thinking futuristically. For it will not do only to consider the pleasures of today. One must consider the future pleasures to be a proper giant of sloth and gluttony, terms that have been cast adrift into the Universal Speech and wound up in Giantkin Language.

I suppose that’s worth writing about… but I am incredibly weary now. I deserve lots of rest for laboring more than a lady should. Let me put out the fire and see to your rightful placement in my satchel, Parchment.

With love and adoration,

Rhonda

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