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You try to force your boot back onto your foot, but find your ankle too swollen for that to work well. Sighing in frustration, you remove your opposite boot as well, to even your gait as you walk. No need to limp more than you already will. You'll ruin the socks, which is unfortunate, but you're quite certain Mother won't be offended.

If you can manage to get home. This night is beginning to kill whatever hope you'd had of arriving safely, and you fear that you will die in this wilderness, injured and far from home. Or close, you really cannot tell, and that is perhaps the most disconcerting thing.

You find that every stick and stone on the forest floor abrades your feet, even covered in socks as they are. You've grown accustomed to wearing boots, even in summer, and your feet are no longer as tough as they were when you were a small child. You are thankful for the socks, however, for without them you know you would already have cuts on the soles of your feet.

Suddenly you come to a halt. Something is moving in the underbrush off to the side of the deer path you've been following. Your first thought is that the natives must have a settlement in this area, and that chills you. Most of them, you've heard, are not friendly to Acadians and Quebecois, though you can understand why they would find your people a threat as they stream in from what must seem to be all directions. You, however, cannot see your own tired, sore, unarmed self as much of a threat to anyone.

Yes. There is definitely someone or something there. You can hear the movements, and for some reason you cannot quite define, you believe this probably is another human you're dealing with. Unfortunately, you have no way to tell what sort of person it might be.

Drop to the ground, plead for aid.