Chapter 3
The warmth of the sun on her face stirred Adelaide from sleep, though the first thing she noticed was the stiffness in her back. The cabin’s warped wooden floor had been far from forgiving, and her body ached from head to toe. Groaning softly, she stretched, trying to loosen her sore muscles. A sharp pop from her shoulder startled her, but the relief that followed was welcome.
Shifting uncomfortably, she sat up near the chest, rolling her neck to ease the lingering tension. The ache persisted, but it was manageable. She drew the cloak tighter around her shoulders and allowed herself a small smile—at least she’d stayed warm, even without a fire. Little victories, she thought to herself, savoring the small comfort.
"Surprisingly peaceful night, all things considered…” Adelaide muttered, breaking the silence that had settled over the cabin. “But I sure could’ve used a pillow.” She raked her fingers through her hair, brushing out bits of debris as she took another look around. In the daylight, the cabin looked no better than it had the night before. If anything, the sun revealed just how deeply the mold and decay had overtaken the place, spreading across the walls and creeping into every crevice.
“So glad I don’t have to clean this mess up,” she added under her breath, grimacing as dust swirled in the sunbeam that illuminated the center of the room, where she and the chest lay. It danced lazily in the golden light, as if mocking her unease. Adelaide squinted at the shadows on the floor, her mind drifting. "What time is it?" she wondered aloud. The idea of crafting a sundial briefly crossed her thoughts, but she dismissed it almost as quickly as it came.
She could barely remember how they worked—something about marking the hours—but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t planning to stay here long. There was no way she’d spend the rest of her days in this broken-down cabin, surrounded by rot and fading memories. She had to get back home.
Home. For the first time in what felt like forever, Adelaide let herself dwell on the word. All her life, she had heard people say, “home is where the heart is,” but for her, home had always been a fleeting concept, an abstract idea that never truly belonged to her. She had grown up bouncing from foster family to foster family, and when she aged out, the cycle continued—from one cramped studio apartment to the next.
Her transient life left little room for luxuries like long-term friendships, favorite hangouts, or even the occasional boyfriend. But she had thought she was finally starting to piece it together when she scraped together enough money to buy her old, faithful Toyota Yaris. She’d named it ‘Carbuncle,’ a small comfort during long days of slinging pizzas for a mom-and-pop shop that had a “Help Wanted” sign in their window. Those nights spent running deliveries had fueled her dream of saving up—just enough—to rent a place of her own, finish college, escape the suffocating sprawl of the city, and maybe, finally, lay down roots.
Yet other than Carbuncle, there wasn’t much in her life she could claim as hers. No family, no lifelong friends, no sacred space she could call a haven. No home. The sudden realization hit her like a cold wave: she was now just another missing person. And no one was looking for her.
A heaviness settled over her chest as the thought lingered. Maybe she didn’t need to find her way “home.” Maybe this place—this broken, decayed cabin—could be her home now. She glanced around the musty interior once more, a spider darting out of sight in the corner of her vision. “Actually… let’s… not,” she muttered, shivering slightly as she pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Using the chest beside her for leverage, Adelaide pushed herself to her feet, brushing off the bits of debris that clung stubbornly to her borrowed clothes. As she moved, the pendant slipped free from its hiding place beneath her shirt, the chain catching on the fabric before settling back against her chest. She paused, her fingers closing gently around it, reminded of its presence.
The morning light streaming through the cabin seemed the perfect chance to take a closer look. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she’d seen this pendant before. Yet, as she held it up, it already looked different from what she remembered the night before. The large, crystalline gemstone, which she had thought was colorless, now glowed faintly with a soft, pale pink hue. It seemed to shimmer with its own light, though Adelaide quickly told herself it was just the way the sun caught its many facets.
She had once overheard that diamonds grew more beautiful with more facets, their complexity allowing them to dazzle in direct light. Wrapping the edge of her borrowed cloak around her fingers, she polished the gem gently, hoping to coax out its brilliance. Lifting it higher, she turned the pendant toward the sunlight. The rays broke into a cascade of tiny rainbows, dancing across the cabin’s walls and floor in mesmerizing patterns. Adelaide’s breath hitched.
She had never been able to afford jewelry—had never thought of it as something she’d care about. But now, holding this delicate, exquisite thing in her hands, she thought she understood. The gem was spectacular, almost otherworldly in its beauty. Rubbing her thumb over the intricate silverwork framing the stone, she brushed away fine grains of sand caught in its grooves, marveling at its craftsmanship.
As much as she longed to hold onto it, a practical voice in the back of her mind whispered a familiar truth: she’d probably have to part with it eventually, sell it to scrape together supplies. She knew what that was like—watching something precious slip through her fingers. But not today. Today, she let herself enjoy the small luxury, her first in what felt like forever.
As she tilted the pendant back out of the light, a faint twinkle caught her eye, a glimmer that almost felt... alive. Adelaide let the chain slip back beneath her shirt, tucking it carefully away. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the pendant shimmered in response, a quiet acknowledgment of her touch.
An all-too-familiar sensation clawed its way to the forefront of Adelaide’s mind: hunger. Her stomach churned uneasily, twisting and growling in protest, and she realized she couldn’t even recall the last time she had eaten. The demands of survival had dulled her awareness of it before, but now, with sleep behind her and the cabin’s eerie calm settling in, the feeling gnawed at her with an almost feral intensity.
She cast a wary glance around the room. Nothing here could remotely pass for food—not in a place so steeped in decay. Even the thought of fishing in the lake felt daunting; she had no idea how long it would take to catch anything, or if she could at all. For now, she could at least count small victories. She was dressed, the borrowed cloak still keeping her warm despite the chill in the air, and she was no longer shivering—a definite improvement over last night.
But the ache in her stomach and the oppressive sense of rot closing in made one thing abundantly clear: she couldn’t stay here much longer. The cabin offered no answers, no reprieve. If she wanted to survive, she had to move.
Adelaide let her eyes wander around the cabin, sunlight streaming through the jagged holes in its walls. The play of light against the decay lent the scene an eerie sort of beauty, though it did little to improve her opinion of the place. Her gaze landed on a relatively intact edge of a tattered blanket buried among the debris. Crouching down, she tugged at the fabric, her hands straining against its stubborn resistance. The ripping sound echoed sharply through the room, breaking the silence.
She worked methodically, tearing off strips of the blanket where the fabric held and selecting usable pieces from the mess. With quiet focus, she began braiding the lengths together, weaving them into a thin but sturdy rope. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Adelaide tied the makeshift belt around her waist, measuring its fit with a sense of mild satisfaction.
Content with the effort so far, she retrieved the hatchet head she had abandoned on the floor the night before. Sitting down, she braced the rough tool between her boots and began sawing through the rope where it needed cutting. Each motion was slow and painstaking, the braided fabric resisting every movement. Adelaide’s jaw tightened as frustration flared, her grip slipping when the hatchet head shifted suddenly. She hissed under her breath, forcing herself to readjust and continue.
Minutes ticked by, but she refused to give in to impatience. Her persistence was rewarded when at last, the frayed strands gave way, and she held two neatly cut lengths of rope in her hands. It wasn’t much, but it was progress—a small victory to cling to amid the ruins of her world.
The rope belt, now snug around her waist, caused the ends of the oversized shirt to flare out slightly. Adelaide didn’t mind; in fact, she thought it gave her a touch of charm—maybe even cute, in a rugged, survivalist sort of way. Pleased with her improvised belt and newfound look, she turned her attention back to the hatchet.
Carefully, she looped the braided rope through the eye of the hatchet head and secured it to her belt along her hip. It wasn’t the most accessible setup for emergencies, but it would do for now. The hatchet, though broken, was her only tool, and she wasn’t about to leave it behind in this decaying cabin. Maybe she’d find a sturdy branch later to fashion into a proper handle. For now, it deserved to come along—its work here was done.
Adelaide gave the hatchet head a gentle pat, as if rewarding it for its service, and turned her focus to the chest.
The lingering scent of lavender wafting from the chest seemed to mock her. In her hungry state, it was almost cruel how tantalizing it smelled, though Adelaide knew full well that dried flowers wouldn’t make much of a meal. Shaking off the thought, she reached for the small book nestled within the chest. Its leather cover was even more worn than she’d realized, edges cracked and corners bent from years of handling—or neglect. Despite its illegible contents, she felt a strange pull toward it, a hope that its knowledge might one day prove valuable. She decided it was worth taking.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Her gaze fell on the remaining pouches of lavender in the chest. With a twinge of guilt, she grabbed the largest pouch and tipped its contents back into the chest, the dried flowers cascading out in a fragrant heap. She reasoned with herself—it was all for practicality. Sliding the journal into the now-empty pouch, she untied the rope belt from her waist, intending to thread it through the pouch’s drawstrings for security.
The plan, unfortunately, fell apart almost immediately. The added weight of the hatchet head caused the rope and pouch to slip from her grasp, clattering unceremoniously onto the cabin floor. Adelaide froze, then groaned, burying her face in her palms. “Ah… bless it…” she muttered, exasperated and thoroughly embarrassed. She really should’ve thought this through a bit more.
Still, her resolve didn’t waver. Securing the pouch properly felt more stable than simply tying it on like she had with the hatchet head, and she wasn’t about to abandon the idea. After a steadying breath, she knelt down and picked up the fallen items, determined to make it work.
Adelaide quickly recovered from her blunder, rearranging the hatchet and pouch onto her belt before securing it snugly around her waist. She gave the hatchet and pouch an apologetic pat on either side of her hips, as if to make amends for the earlier mishap, then turned her attention back to the remaining pouches in the chest.
One by one, she emptied their lavender contents into the chest. These three pouches were smaller than the first, but they were still serviceable. She tucked them into the larger pouch alongside the journal. They weren’t perfect substitutes for a proper bag or pockets, but they’d suffice for storing anything she might find while foraging.
Satisfied with her preparations, Adelaide gave her makeshift utility belt a firm tug to test its hold. It held steady. She adjusted her cloak, draping it more comfortably around her shoulders, its red wool concealing the rest of her body. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of decay, but the pull to linger here had faded. Hunger gnawed at her, sharpening her focus.
It was time to leave the cabin behind and venture into the forest. With any luck, she’d find something to eat.
???━━━━━━━━━━━━━???
“I. Should’ve. Made. Shoes.” The words escaped Adelaide in sharp, frustrated bursts as she picked her way through the dense forest. Every step felt like a fresh test of endurance, the forest seeming endless with its winding paths and tangled foliage. Though her foraging had yielded some success—several berry bushes near the cabin had offered a small reprieve—berries were far from enough to keep her hunger at bay.
The cloak draped around her shoulders offered warmth against the chilled air, but it couldn’t shield her from the aching pull of hunger—or the sting of her bare feet, now sore from trekking over uneven ground. She scanned her surroundings for anything remotely edible, her eyes flicking between shadows and sunlight in search of hope.
Then, a familiar sight caught her attention: bushes dotted with small blue spheres clustered ahead. Kneeling down, Adelaide carefully plucked a few of the berries, turning them over in her fingers to inspect them. Their vibrant color and rounded shape gave her cautious optimism. She popped one into her mouth, the sweet burst of flavor flooding her senses and confirming their identity. Blueberries. Relief washed over her as she reached for more, picking the ripe fruit with renewed energy.
She filled one of the smaller pouches with the bounty, her movements precise and efficient. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small victory to combat the gnawing hunger that refused to let her rest.
Adelaide paused beside the bush, letting herself rest as she popped a few more berries into her mouth. The sweet, tangy bursts of flavor provided little relief, but they were better than nothing. Her gaze wandered over the dense forest surrounding her, reflecting on how far she had come. She had been moving forward for what felt like hours, following a beaten path behind the cabin at first. But the path had long since disappeared, leaving her surrounded by endless trees and rocks—and, inevitably, more trees and rocks.
Her bare feet ached sharply with every step, the pain gnawing at her with the same persistence as her hunger. Blisters had begun to form, a cruel reminder of her lack of preparation. More than anything, she wanted to stop, to sit down and give in to the ache that pulled at her. But she knew better. Stopping could mean death, and the thought of fading away alone in the wilderness was enough to keep her moving forward.
A sudden rustling sound snapped her attention back to the bush in front of her. Adelaide’s heart leapt into her throat as she froze, her hands fumbling for the hatchet head secured at her belt. Her fingers trembled as they searched for the knot, her breath catching as fear took hold. Could this be death, creeping through the undergrowth to claim her? She held her breath—one second, two, three. The forest remained silent.
Relief washed over her as she exhaled shakily, her tense shoulders sagging. With careful movements, she retied the hatchet to her belt, chastising herself for the panic. “As cliché as it sounds… that was probably a bunny rabbit,” she said aloud, her wry tone breaking through the lingering fear. The attempt at humor helped steady her resolve.
Adelaide pushed herself upright, wincing as her blistered feet protested. She adjusted her cloak around her shoulders, pulling it tighter as she forced herself to take another step. There was no way she’d let a “death bunny” sneak up on her again, not without a fight. Her pouches felt heavier with the berries she had collected, but even that small weight reassured her—it was something to keep her going. With her jaw set and her mind focused, Adelaide pressed on through the forest.
The ground beneath her bare feet was unforgiving, each step jarring as roots and jagged stones dug into her soles. The ache grew sharper the longer she trudged through the dense forest, turning what had once been a sense of accomplishment into bitter frustration. Though hunger no longer clawed at her thanks to the berries she’d gathered, another, more pressing need had begun to gnaw at her—thirst. Without water, survival felt like a dwindling prospect.
Her foot struck yet another sharp stone, and a jolt of pain forced her to stumble. “How did those hobbits do this?” she snapped, her voice echoing into the forest. Startled by her outburst, several small animals scattered from the underbrush, rustling leaves as they fled. Adelaide glared down at her sore, blistered feet. “Don’t bigger feet mean more stones to step on? There’s no way they’d survive without shoes!” She huffed at her own commentary, a faint memory surfacing of watching the movie with her foster siblings. She hadn’t paid much attention back then, but the thought now felt strangely poignant in her current, miserable state.
She paused, catching her breath as her frustration ebbed into exhaustion. The forest stretched endlessly around her—trees, rocks, and more of the same in every direction. There was no hint of a town, no sign of civilization to give her hope. The hunger had been manageable, but without water or rest, she knew she couldn’t keep this up forever.
Adelaide glanced down at her cloak, its warm red wool a comforting shield against the chill, but its vivid color felt like a glaring beacon in the wilderness. Perhaps she could find shelter soon—hide herself in a bush or cover her form with leaves for the night. The idea was far from ideal, but she was running out of options.
The faint sound of trickling water reached Adelaide’s ears, pulling her from her misery as her head shot up in alert. She paused, listening carefully, before pushing through a dense patch of underbrush, ignoring the sharp branches that scraped at her arms and legs. Her sore feet protested every step, catching painfully on jagged stones hidden beneath the foliage.
Finally, she emerged from the leafy branches into a small clearing. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a gentle glow over a narrow stream that shimmered like glass. Relief surged through her, nearly bringing her to tears, as she limped forward and knelt beside the water’s edge. Her trembling hands cupped the cool liquid, lifting it to her lips. The first sip sent a soothing rush down her parched throat, and Adelaide let out a shaky sigh as she drank deeply, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
Setting her hands down on the ground to steady herself, she dipped her aching feet into the stream. The cool waters washed over her blistered soles, causing her to flinch at first before the pain melted into a dull, soothing throb. Dirt swirled away with the current, leaving her feet cleaner than they had been since her trek began. She flexed her toes gingerly, savoring the reprieve and trying to ignore the sting of small cuts that the trek had left behind.
For the first time in what felt like hours, Adelaide allowed herself to breathe deeply and focus on the present—the simple, undeniable comfort of water on aching feet and the promise of survival for just a little while longer.
Her eyes fixed on a small leaf drifting past her ankles, carried effortlessly by the current. She watched its journey with quiet fascination, silently cheering it on. “Go, little buddy. You can do it!” she thought, a smile tugging at her lips. For a brief moment, Adelaide felt a kinship with the leaf, a sense that she, too, could keep moving forward—like a leaf in a stream. She nodded to herself, proud of how far she had come. Shoes and cheeseburgers were still a desperate dream, but she had survived the cold lake, the eerie decaying cabin, and now, she was determined to survive the forest.
The berries and fresh water had restored some of her strength, easing her hunger and thirst just enough to fuel her resolve. As the soothing trickle of the stream washed over her, another thought began to form in the back of her mind. Streams like this often fed into rivers, and rivers weren’t just lifelines for survival—they were markers of civilization. Adelaide’s gaze followed the stream as it lazily curved through the forest, weaving between trees and shrubs like a path waiting to be discovered. If she followed it long enough, there was a chance it might lead to something—a village, a town, maybe even people.
The thought felt like a faint beacon of hope, calling her onward. She didn’t know how far she’d have to walk or what dangers might lie ahead, but the promise of finding something—a connection to the world—was enough to push her forward. With renewed determination, she adjusted her cloak, shielding herself from the crisp air, and stood. This time, she wouldn’t wander aimlessly. She would follow the water, trusting the stream to guide her to what lay beyond.
The ground near the stream grew softer as Adelaide continued onward, the mud clinging to her feet with every step. Each stride felt heavier, the grime and dirt caking into her skin and pulling at her resolve. The forest seemed endless as the hours dragged on, but gradually, the stream began to widen, its trickling waters transforming into a steady flow. The sound of rushing water grew louder, carrying with it an unspoken promise.
Sunlight pierced the canopy more and more, each beam breaking through the dense foliage to light her path forward. And then, as she pushed through a final patch of underbrush, Adelaide emerged into a clearing. Her breath caught as her gaze landed on the narrow river stretching out before her. It shimmered in the sunlight, its current weaving gracefully through the forest, a stark contrast to the chaos of her trek.
She stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, letting herself absorb the sight—the beauty, the simplicity, and the sheer relief of finding this lifeline. This river wasn’t just water; it was hope. Though civilization might still be miles away, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. The river would be her guide, a beacon to follow. Adelaide exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as she took one last look at the river. Her body ached, her feet throbbed, and her hunger lingered at the edges of her mind. But she had survived. She had found a way forward. “One step at a time,” she whispered, a small, defiant smile tugging at her lips.
