The fire crackled softly in front of him.
Merlin watched the small flames for a while, almost afraid to move.
It had taken longer than he expected to make.
If it died now, he wasn't sure he could start another one so easily.
His eyes drifted toward the river.
The rabbit meat.
He stood immediately.
There was no point letting the fire burn for nothing.
Merlin walked quickly through the trees, the warmth of the fire fading behind him as the cool forest air brushed against his skin.
The river greeted him with its steady sound.
The bundle of meat still floated where he had tied it beneath the root.
He untied the knot and lifted it from the water.
The meat looked different now.
Not raw like before.
The surface had tightened slightly from the cold current.
Merlin studied it for a moment, then carried it.
Merlin looked down and saw a pointed long stick.
Sharpened.
it was perfect he thought to himself.
Before returning to the fire, he glanced up at the other strip of meat he had hung earlier to dry. Reaching up, he pulled it down as well.
The fire was still alive when he returned.
Small, but steady.
Relief loosened the knot in his chest.
He crouched beside it and pushed the sharpened stick through the meat before holding it carefully above the flames.
The fat began to melt almost immediately.
A faint sizzling sound followed.
Then the smell reached him.
Warm.
Rich.
Real food.
Merlin stared at the meat turning slowly over the fire.
After some time the surface darkened, the edges curling slightly. It looked ready to eat.
But Merlin wasn't certain.
The fire kept burning regardless.
Suddenly a sharp screech echoed through the forest.
It wasn't loud by the time it reached him, but it carried enough to tighten his chest.
He looked up.
Birds burst from the trees in the direction of the sound.
It happened the same way it had the day before.
Except this time it was louder.
No.
Closer.
Without thinking, Merlin quickly pulled the meat away from the flames and smothered the fire with loose soil and damp leaves.
The small flames died reluctantly beneath the dirt.
A faint thread of smoke curled upward before disappearing.
For a brief moment, Merlin felt a stab of regret.
Making the fire had taken time.
But leaving it burning felt like an invitation for something to find him.
Now he had food he thought as he glanced at the fruit he laid on a leaf and the cooked meat he had on the stick.
But he still didn't have a proper way to carry it.
His clothes were still drying by the river.
Merlin glanced toward the trees where the road lay somewhere beyond the forest.
Part of him wanted to stay in the hollow.
Stay where things were quiet.
But if he was going to follow that road…
He would need to prepare first.
Merlin stayed still for a while after the forest quieted again.
The birds eventually settled back into the trees.
The wind moved softly through the leaves as if nothing had happened.
Only then did he slowly relax his shoulders.
Whatever had made that sound... it wasn't close.
At least not yet.
He looked down at the meat still resting on the stick in his hands.
The smell made his stomach tighten painfully.
Merlin sat beside the smothered fire and tore off a small piece.
The meat was hot.
Juice ran down his fingers as he bit into it.
For a moment he closed his eyes.
It wasn't seasoned.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was warm food.
And that alone made it feel like the best thing he had eaten in days.
He ate slowly, forcing himself not to rush.
When he finished, only a few strips remained.
Food for later.
Which brought him back to the problem he had already noticed.
Carrying it.
Merlin glanced toward the river where his clothes were still drying on the rocks.
Then his eyes drifted across the forest floor.
Branches.
Vines.
Broad leaves.
His gaze settled on a few straight sticks lying nearby.
An idea formed.
He picked one up and tested its strength.
Not too brittle.
Good enough.
Merlin gathered several similar branches and cut them down to length with his dagger. Four longer ones. Several shorter pieces.
He laid them on the ground and began tying them together with thin vines.
A square first.
Then another.
The knots were rough and uneven, but they held.
Slowly, the shape of a crude frame appeared — little more than a small wooden box made of sticks.
It wasn't elegant.
But it was sturdy enough.
Merlin lifted it and tested the corners.
The frame held together.
Still, anything small would slip straight through the gaps.
He stepped away again, searching the nearby trees until he found several large leaves growing low along the forest floor.
He cut them carefully and returned to the hollow.
One by one, he pressed the leaves along the inside of the wooden frame, tucking their stems between the tied vines so they stayed in place.
Soon the inside of the box was covered.
Not perfect.
But enough to hold fruit.
Or meat.
Or anything else he might find.
Merlin lifted the finished container and turned it in his hands.
Just a few straps and it could be a backpack, he thought.
A faint sense of satisfaction stirred in his chest.
It looked crude.
But it was useful.
For the first time since entering the forest, he had something to carry his things in.
His eyes drifted toward the river again.
The fish were probably still there.
Small flashes of silver beneath the water.
Catching one would mean more food.
But Merlin frowned slightly.
Without hooks or proper line, a fishing rod would be useless.
Still…
Maybe there were other ways.
He picked up the wooden container and began walking toward the river again, his mind already turning through possibilities.