In the Forests of New France
Struggling over to the nearest tree without actually rising, you lean against it gratefully. Taking a deep breath, you draw your leg up closer to yourself and carefully remove the boot covering the injured foot. It briefly feels better without the pressure from the leather, but the pain quickly returns. Removing the sock with equal care, you experimentally touch the injured ankle. Wincing at the contact, you sigh and rest your head back onto the tree behind you. It's going to be a long walk home.
Somehow, in those few instants, you manage to doze. You had know you were tired, but hadn't suspected it was that pressing for you to rest. Your now bare foot is cold, and so, gritting your teeth, you drag the sock back over it. It's already quite swollen, and you can see there's no sense in trying for the boot.
It's a surprisingly quiet, still night. The sky is clear; a definite reassurance, as a sudden rainstorm now would cause you more misery than you care to consider. And possibly illness as well. You've always feared illness, and that fear becomes all the more acute now that you are alone in the wilderness.
You force your mind to other matters. To drive yourself into a panic would serve no purpose but to hasten your... what? Death? Surely not, conditions were not that bad. Loss of sanity? Perhaps, but you already were beginning to wonder about that. How did you get into a strange part of the forest with no recollection of the trip, anyway?
Maybe it's best you struggle onward. Maybe the ankle would heal so slowly you'd starve to death anyway if you stayed. Maybe you're closer to home than you think. Maybe. Maybe you're asking for death no matter what you do, you think, more melancholic than before. You're afraid of the animals you know lurk in these woods, but more than that, you're afraid of yourself. However many hours you had been gone, you have no memory of them...
Somehow, in those few instants, you manage to doze. You had know you were tired, but hadn't suspected it was that pressing for you to rest. Your now bare foot is cold, and so, gritting your teeth, you drag the sock back over it. It's already quite swollen, and you can see there's no sense in trying for the boot.
It's a surprisingly quiet, still night. The sky is clear; a definite reassurance, as a sudden rainstorm now would cause you more misery than you care to consider. And possibly illness as well. You've always feared illness, and that fear becomes all the more acute now that you are alone in the wilderness.
You force your mind to other matters. To drive yourself into a panic would serve no purpose but to hasten your... what? Death? Surely not, conditions were not that bad. Loss of sanity? Perhaps, but you already were beginning to wonder about that. How did you get into a strange part of the forest with no recollection of the trip, anyway?
Maybe it's best you struggle onward. Maybe the ankle would heal so slowly you'd starve to death anyway if you stayed. Maybe you're closer to home than you think. Maybe. Maybe you're asking for death no matter what you do, you think, more melancholic than before. You're afraid of the animals you know lurk in these woods, but more than that, you're afraid of yourself. However many hours you had been gone, you have no memory of them...