The cave mouth yawned behind him, its damp shadows swallowing Jini's presence.
Harold lingered a moment, hand brushing the rough stone wall as though steadying himself against the sudden emptiness.
For all her suspicion, all her fangs and fury, Jini had become a tether—proof he wasn't alone here.
Tangible proof since the city in the distance could just be a weird alien mountain range for all he knew.
But she was injured, confined to that bed of stone and bandages.
Survival meant one of them had to move, and right now, that was him.
Harold drew in a breath, squared his shoulders, and started down the slope toward the stream.
The forest greeted him with its usual chorus: the hiss of insects, the distant croak of unseen creatures, and the faint rustle of leaves in the muggy air.
He kept his pace measured, not hurried, scanning the undergrowth with the practiced caution of a man who'd learned quickly how easily something could lunge from the shadows.
Water first.
Food second.
That was the plan.
The trickier part would be finding a way to bring the water back.
Carrying it in cupped hands was laughable.
He needed a container—something the system currently couldnt provide, or something from the wilderness he could find.
As he walked, Harold let his gaze drift across the ground.
A broken gourd?
A hollowed log?
Even a sturdy bit of bark might work if sealed with resin.
The thought made him chuckle.
Listen to me.
I sound like one of those survival show guys.
Except they always have a camera crew and a medic a few feet away.
He had no such luxuries.
Halfway to the stream, Harold bent to pick up a stone.
Then another.
Soon he had five, each roughly palm-sized, smooth enough to fit comfortably in his grip.
He weighed one in his hand, then shifted it to his pocket.
Projectiles.
Weapons.
Or, if he was lucky, tools for hunting.
He pictured the rodent-creatures he'd glimpsed before—oversized rats with fur that looked like wet moss, and the hulking things he'd half-jokingly called capybaras.
He didn't know if they were edible.
Hell, they might be poisonous for all he knew.
But Jini?
She looked like she knew how to hunt, how to eat.
If she thought one of those beasts was fair game, then he'd happily be the man who fetched it.
Fair trade, Harold thought grimly.
I patch her up, she shows me how not to starve.
The stream soon came into view, glinting silver through the foliage, as the suns light reflected off its surface.
The sound of running water was a balm in itself.
Kneeling at the edge, Harold dipped his hands in, drinking greedily before splashing his face.
The coolness cut through the heat, clearing his head.
"Now… container," he muttered.
He scanned the bank, eyes darting for anything useful.
Rocks, mud, reeds.
Luckily enough, not far from the spot he found Jini at he spotted what looked like a backpack, and inside of it were four or so waterskins, all of them empty.
She must have been attacked on her way to refill her canteens, poor girl she was attacked when she let her guard down.
Harold's eyes wandered across the water.
Movement caught his gaze.
There—on the opposite bank—three of the moss-furred rodents scurried out from under the brush.
They dipped their snouts into the stream, squeaking softly.
Their bodies were squat, their tails short, like some odd cross between a rat and a rabbit.
Harold's pulse quickened.
He fingered the stones in his pocket, selecting one with a bit of heft.
Slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's see if I still got an arm."
He hadn't thrown a baseball since high school, and his shoulder twinged at the very thought.
But hunger made for a fine motivator.
Harold drew back and let the stone fly.
It cut across the stream with a sharp crack—smacking the ground just shy of the nearest rodent.
They bolted instantly, vanishing into the underbrush.
"Damn it!" Harold hissed.
He rubbed his shoulder ruefully.
"Guess the ol' pitching arm's not what it used to be."
Still, he marked the lesson.
Next time, closer.
Next time, steadier.
Shaking his head, he crouched back down again, taking out a skin and filling it with the flowing water, keeping his eyes up on the surround the whole time.
One after another he filled to the brim before capping them off.
His primary goal accomplished he slung to scavenged bag full of waterskins and other oddities onto his back, Harold started his trek home.
The journey back felt longer with his load, carrying Jini back had been tough but be it chivalry or adrenaline he hadnt minded, but now with nothigng to distract him, the pack with nothing more than a dozen or so pounds of water and odds and ends was almost torture.
Every rustle in the brush made his skin crawl.
Once, he spotted the shadow of something large moving through the trees, though it vanished before he could do more than hold his breath.
By the time the cave came into sight, sweat plastered his shirt to his back.
He ducked inside gratefully, removing the pack from his back and setting it down at the foot of the bed.
Jini's eyes were open, watching him.
"I brought water," Harold said simply, gesturing to the bag. "If this is yours the skins are full. I wasnt successful in getting food..."
He grimaced.
"Still working on that part, im good at putting things together again, not so much at taking them apart."
Her gaze slid to the bag, then back to him.
"You are giving this back...?," she said slowly, her voice rasping with disuse.
"Yeah. I mean it is yours isnt it?," Harold nodded. "I looked around but it was the only thing i could find where i found you."
Jini blinked once, tentacles shifting faintly against the bed.
"You hunt too?"
Harold let out a dry laugh.
"Tried. Failed. But I'll keep at it. I managed to stone a rat, and a capybara just the other day."
Her expression was unreadable, but something in her eyes sharpened.
"You did what... to what?"
"Right you probably have other names for them..."
Shrugging his shoulders Harold moved on to describe the creatures he'd used as patient one, and two.