Morning dawned in a loud silence. Birds chirped, the stream trickled, breeze fluttering the leaves of my wall. It took me a long moment to realise it hadn’t all been a dream. With a bittersweet smile, I uncurled, stretching out as much as I could in the rocky crevice.

I started my day unceremoniously digging a hole and gathering more of the soft leaves I’d found yesterday. Once done with defecating, I rinsed my hands the best I could with just water, then had some fruit for breakfast. A little pick-me-up. Besides, it took so much effort to start a fire, better to save it for the evening when it could keep me warm too.

Not so worried for food and shelter today, I started exploring. To keep from getting lost, I didn’t stray far from the stream, following it down.

For the most part, I just saw more of the same and even filled my arms with more of the sweet potato-like carrots. However, I caught glimpses of small creatures, animals somewhere between squirrels and foxes in size, but that was where the similarity ended. Hard to tell when I barely saw them and they were off in the shadows, maybe not even furry, they looked more purplish and moved in these little leaps, stretching out and coiling up.

The birds, albeit nothing like any birds I’d seen before, still looked birdish. Maybe I just had low standards for birds. Two wings, a beak, and feathers was enough for me. Some looked like the trees, camouflaged as they sat up on the branches, their singing what gave them away. Others were more colourful, like covered in rubies and sapphires how their feathers glittered in the rays of sunshine spilling through the canopy.

I had no interest in the animals beyond admiring them, though. As long as I had other food to eat, there was no need to think about hunting or trapping or anything like that.

Back up at my camp, the carrots I’d found were added to my “larder”: another crevice in the rocky outcrop, closed off by a fairly flat stone. It wouldn’t do if those animals came and ate my food.

Although there was no stream to follow up, I had some more fruit for lunch, then climbed the mountain. The trees already thinning, I didn’t expect to find much higher up. Rather than food, I was interested in flint, something to make it easier to start fires or help with cooking. To that end, I did find slate-like rock, a thin sheet of stone that hopefully wouldn’t take too long to heat up, maybe usable for frying.

After dropping that off at camp, I went back up. As much as I wanted to collect every usable-looking rock, I just made sure they were easy to spot for when I came back, no need to carry stones up a mountain.

By the camp, the slope wasn’t all that steep; above, it was all that steep, nowhere near vertical, but a good forty-five degrees. I took it slow, using the sparse trees as goals and resting points and I also left marks on them to keep from getting lost.

It was interesting seeing the foliage change as I climbed. The grass grew longer, yet was tinged brown; I guessed there wasn’t much rain up here and no spring either. Behind me, the forest stretched out to the horizon, following the rise and fall of the land, shimmering in mossy greens and ocean teals and wine purples. Darker colours than I was used to, but then the sun didn’t feel as bright either and that was maybe why, every plant thirsty for light, drinking it all up.

I didn’t mind that colder sun too much right now, working up a sweat from the exercise as I was. It wasn’t like I expected climbing a mountain to be easy, but I hoped to find something soon, otherwise I’d just be bringing rocks back.

Those heavy thoughts weighed me down and kept me looking for a reason to turn back. Eventually, my wish was granted, seeing a ridge above. I thought there’d probably be interesting rocks that rolled down the mountain there, probably my best chance to find flint. So I climbed with a burst of energy.

Only, it wasn’t a ridge but a plateau. Not just any plateau, something like wheat spread out across it, thin, golden stalks with brownish heads, hair-like strands sticking out.

I scrambled up and rushed over, inspecting the closest ones. The difference between stuff like wheat and rye and oats wasn’t something I knew, but it wasn’t like this grain would be the same as any in my world, probably just similar.

Closer up, I could tell they were in different stages, some kernels that kind of purple-green I’d seen in other plants, some lightening to more of a hazel. Testing their texture, the purple ones were soft and kind of popped, leaking something milky like a cut stem, while the browner ones were firmer. Not just that, I noticed the brown heads were often missing a chunk or two while the purple ones were always intact.

If I hadn’t already guessed why, the small bird fluttering near to me and pecking at one of the brown heads would have given me a clue.

Eager to make some “cereal”, I considered what stalks to collect. As obvious as it was to find the biggest kernels, that would leave the smallest kernels behind to sow the next generation—the unintuitive nature of selective breeding. So I took my sharpish rock and cut the stalks low on the smallest ones I could find. While I could have just taken the heads, I wanted to see if the stalks would make good straw for kindling or thatching.

Once I collected enough to fill my arms, I started walking back. Not like I’d harvested my own wheat before, I had no clue how much food I’d actually gathered, but it wasn’t like I could even bring back more this trip. It took me longer to get back than to climb up, taking more care since I couldn’t use my hands. A few times, I felt my balance go, stomach sinking as I thought I’d have to drop my harvest, but I managed to recover every time, boots really gripping even on the loose stones and dry dirt of the mountainside.

Back at the camp, I collapsed, breathless. The steep incline didn’t make it easy going up or down and I hated that I would probably be going back a lot to gather more.

For now, I drank some water from the spring and snacked on fruits, then I put the grain away to cure, echoes of podcasts in my ears. It needed a few days to dry out before threshing and something else—threshing loosened the husks and the other step removed them. The stalks needed time to dry into hay too.

Already thinking about food, my thoughts drifted to my diet. There was no way to know what nutrients the stuff I ate had (other than sugar), but, if things were similar, I would need protein. Legumes—beans.

Working all day nothing new to me, I pushed myself up. While I could have gone farther away to look, I felt like it was a better idea to check the area around my camp, not like I’d checked over every plant yet. So that was what I did, shuffling around the lightly forested area and inspecting the plants, particularly the bigger ones. Beans didn’t usually grow underground. Well, peanuts did, but I wasn’t going to dig up every plant to check.

Although progress was slow, the work was easier than climbing a mountain. Under the trees’ shade, it felt nice and cool, air refreshing to breathe.

Eventually, I ended up at a fruit tree I’d already picked. Not all the fruits, of course, just the lowest ones, leaving the rest for later—or never if they had made me sick. Since I was here, I looked around for a long stick and then started knocking down some more.

And I noticed the lower branches were budding.

The buds definitely hadn’t been there before, but had they really grown in a day? Of all the answers, the simplest was that I hadn’t noticed them; I couldn’t accept that, though. Yes, I was kind of under a lot of stress I was ignoring, but that was also why I definitely hadn’t missed anything. The last day was so vivid in my mind.

No, these buds were where I’d plucked fruits. To bud so quickly, it had to be magic, right?

As much as that discovery had shaken me, I went back to looking for beans. There was all evening to think and only so much daylight.

It took another hour or so, but my effort proved fruitful—or rather, legumeful. A woody-looking bush curled around the base of the tree, but the branches were supple, easily moving when I checked inside. Spiral pods hung down, purplish, but some had already popped open, showing off small, flat peas, looking like lentils in beige shades.

If they were like lentils, then that was great for my protein intake.

Back at my camp, I emptied the pods and left the seeds to soak in a basin-like rock. It wasn’t that big, but I only collected the pods from one bush, so it did the job. While it would be nice to sprout them, I wanted to make sure I could eat them first. Gathering more and waiting a few days would be fine once I knew they were edible.

That led to my next problem: I obviously hadn’t stumbled upon a metal pot and it wasn’t like I could individually wrap each “pea” in a leaf and bake it by the fire. If I wanted to heat the basin, who knew how long it would take.

In the end, I used some sticks and vines to make some supports, holding up the thin slab I’d found.

Morning and afternoon spent, evening approached. I wasn’t as worried starting the fire today. Step by step, I got some embers burning, then caught the leftover charcoal from yesterday, easily getting the flames to a good size.

For my main meal, I wrapped up more of the carrots and left them to bake. The peas probably could have used longer to soak, but I took out some to try, drying them with the front of my shirt.

I dripped a drop of water on the slab and the droplet immediately fizzled away. Hoping it was level enough, I carefully put on the peas and picked up a clean stick to push them around. They weren’t exactly pleased with the situation, sticking, sizzling, steam rushing out in a whine, but I managed to keep them from burning, pushing them around and flipping them over often.

After a few minutes, they looked wrinkled with brown spots. Deciding that was enough, I pushed them off onto a fairly flat rock.

Small, I didn’t wait long for them to cool, popping the first one in and chewing it up. It certainly tasted like a pea, not really a strong taste to it, but a hint of both bitter and sweet, maybe caramelised from the frying. Passing the taste test, I ate the rest of the small portion and waited.

Nothing.

Every minute brought me a little more relief, happy to have another food—hopefully one high in protein. Eventually, I moved on to the carrots, filling up on them. After so much exercise, I really needed that.

The sun set, the fire burned, and I sat there, full. So easy to think of nothing when I didn’t have to ignore my own hunger. So easy when there weren’t the sounds of sleeping children around, any pause in their breathing enough to put me into carer mode, ready to address whatever problem came up.

When the fire started to die down, I tidied up. Put away the spare food, lodged the soaking peas in my larder. Wasn’t much I could do to clean the slab, but I wasn’t worried, definitely hot enough to be sterile for next time.

After that, I covered up the embers with some dirt and snuggled into my bedroom. So cramped, uncomfortable, but mine. A room to call my own. And after doing so much today, sleep came easily.