let anyone see how thoroughly terrified he was.
Almost as soon as he had stepped forward, he was somewhere else, surrounded by young trees.
‘Well,’ he said loudly. ‘That’s that.’
The gentle breeze floating through the trees dropped a sycamore leaf on his shoulder in reply. The effect of the sudden and total solitude was immediate and immersive. There was nobody here, let alone anyone who might give a dam whether he lived or died.
He stood around for a good ten minutes, partly getting used to the feeling, and partly not knowing what else to do. Eventually, he set about thinking about what he needed to do to survive. With a terrifying start, he realized that nobody had given him the knife he had been promised; he would need that for making some other basic tools, but then he felt a lump in his pocket which must have been it: one of the guards must have slipped it into his jeans pocket while they were so roughly moving him between one place and the next. He took it out of his pocket. Nothing fancy: an Opinel No. 8, with its distinctive red beech handle and blade marked ‘INOX.’
He walked off in no particular direction, with a view to finding water. Once he had found a brook or a river, he would have water. Even if he found the edge of the island he might be able to purify the water, somehow. Once he had water, he would set about building a dwelling there.
As he walked, the Sun was growing hotter, and he was growing ever-more grateful for the canopy of leaves overhead. The only sounds he heard were his own footsteps in the earth as he walked, and the breeze, and the birds. He watched the trees as he walked, hoping to find a straight and knotless branch to use to make a wand, but while all of these trees were young, they were old enough to have very few young shoot-like branches that might be suitable.
A branch with knots might be useable, he supposed, but that wasn’t the point: for a wand to work properly he would need to be able to get to know the grain of the wood intimately very quickly, and knots made for a lot of grain that his magical sense would have to spend a lot of time following and learning how to make connections through. All-in-all, it would be prohibitively difficult.
It took him a little over an hour to find the edge of the island, with a narrow beach at the edge of the wood, down a small cliff, where the trees and their roots abruptly ended, and the earth had been washed away. Standing on the precipice, he could see that the island was large, and apparently out at sea: nothing was visible over the horizon except endless water. The beach here was very slightly concave, and he could see a few bamboo-like reeds on the other side of the curve. He wondered idly for a moment if a piece taken from between the knots of a reed would be suitable for making a wand.
He supposed not; it was hollow. It might, however, be suitable for making a two-stick, which would be a good start. He might possibly even be able to enchant a piece of it to use as a straw to magically purify water to drink.
The cliff was maybe twenty feet straight down, and under it were a few large flat rocks and a patch of wet sand. He looked left and right to see if there was a way to climb down. There wasn’t. His only option would be to jump. His heart began to hammer at the thought, and he was scared sick of hurting himself if he landed wrong. But there would be no other way to get down, unless he wanted to fart around trying to find vines to make a rope.
He stepped closer and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm and steel himself. He jumped.
As he landed his left foot gave way and he collapsed sideways, hitting his head on one of the flat rocks. His head spun sickeningly and he swallowed back a strong urge to vomit. After giving himself a few minutes to recover himself a little, he carefully sat up and then stood up, focusing on the bamboo a hundred or so yards away.
There was no canopy of leaves
Almost as soon as he had stepped forward, he was somewhere else, surrounded by young trees.
‘Well,’ he said loudly. ‘That’s that.’
The gentle breeze floating through the trees dropped a sycamore leaf on his shoulder in reply. The effect of the sudden and total solitude was immediate and immersive. There was nobody here, let alone anyone who might give a dam whether he lived or died.
He stood around for a good ten minutes, partly getting used to the feeling, and partly not knowing what else to do. Eventually, he set about thinking about what he needed to do to survive. With a terrifying start, he realized that nobody had given him the knife he had been promised; he would need that for making some other basic tools, but then he felt a lump in his pocket which must have been it: one of the guards must have slipped it into his jeans pocket while they were so roughly moving him between one place and the next. He took it out of his pocket. Nothing fancy: an Opinel No. 8, with its distinctive red beech handle and blade marked ‘INOX.’
He walked off in no particular direction, with a view to finding water. Once he had found a brook or a river, he would have water. Even if he found the edge of the island he might be able to purify the water, somehow. Once he had water, he would set about building a dwelling there.
As he walked, the Sun was growing hotter, and he was growing ever-more grateful for the canopy of leaves overhead. The only sounds he heard were his own footsteps in the earth as he walked, and the breeze, and the birds. He watched the trees as he walked, hoping to find a straight and knotless branch to use to make a wand, but while all of these trees were young, they were old enough to have very few young shoot-like branches that might be suitable.
A branch with knots might be useable, he supposed, but that wasn’t the point: for a wand to work properly he would need to be able to get to know the grain of the wood intimately very quickly, and knots made for a lot of grain that his magical sense would have to spend a lot of time following and learning how to make connections through. All-in-all, it would be prohibitively difficult.
It took him a little over an hour to find the edge of the island, with a narrow beach at the edge of the wood, down a small cliff, where the trees and their roots abruptly ended, and the earth had been washed away. Standing on the precipice, he could see that the island was large, and apparently out at sea: nothing was visible over the horizon except endless water. The beach here was very slightly concave, and he could see a few bamboo-like reeds on the other side of the curve. He wondered idly for a moment if a piece taken from between the knots of a reed would be suitable for making a wand.
He supposed not; it was hollow. It might, however, be suitable for making a two-stick, which would be a good start. He might possibly even be able to enchant a piece of it to use as a straw to magically purify water to drink.
The cliff was maybe twenty feet straight down, and under it were a few large flat rocks and a patch of wet sand. He looked left and right to see if there was a way to climb down. There wasn’t. His only option would be to jump. His heart began to hammer at the thought, and he was scared sick of hurting himself if he landed wrong. But there would be no other way to get down, unless he wanted to fart around trying to find vines to make a rope.
He stepped closer and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm and steel himself. He jumped.
As he landed his left foot gave way and he collapsed sideways, hitting his head on one of the flat rocks. His head spun sickeningly and he swallowed back a strong urge to vomit. After giving himself a few minutes to recover himself a little, he carefully sat up and then stood up, focusing on the bamboo a hundred or so yards away.
There was no canopy of leaves
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