5. Hayden

5

HAYDEN

I hate that my only water source borders two clans: Burning Sun and Swordstone. It's risky, but I need to survive. When I first woke up after escaping those monsters, I climbed down the cliff, battered and bruised. I remember how desperate I was for water and food. This place, unfortunately, is the only spot with access to water.

Now, I navigate the jungle like a shadow, always on guard. The leaves rustle with hidden threats, and every snap of a twig makes my heart race. It's a daily fight for survival. The woods are dense, making it easier to hide but also easy to get lost. I keep away from other clans, knowing that they surround this place.

I crouch near the stream, my fierce green eyes scanning the area. No movement except for the lazy drift of the water. My fingers dip into the stream, cool liquid offering a moment of solace. I cup my hands and bring it to my lips, savoring each drop like it's nectar from the gods.

A twig snaps behind me. My body tenses. I whip around, ready to fight or flee.

Nothing but the wind through the trees.

Paranoia keeps me alive. Always has.

I gather some water in an old canteen I've managed to scavenge and move away from the open bank, melting back into the cover of the forest. The Swordstone clan might be relocating—I've heard whispers—but that doesn't mean I'm safe. Trusting orcs isn't an option.

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows that dance like specters around me. The air thickens with moisture as night approaches; it’ll soon be harder to see threats coming.

My stomach growls angrily. Finding food is another challenge out here. Edible plants are scarce and hunting small beasts isn't always successful. But hunger keeps me sharp, focused on staying alive one more day.

As I tread carefully through the underbrush, every sound amplified by my heightened senses, I remind myself why I fight so hard: there must be something better out there for me—for every human forced into this hellish existence.

I push forward, determined not to let despair claim me.

The stream gurgles, a constant companion in this wilderness. My stomach rumbles, reminding me it's been too long since my last meal. I scan the water, searching for telltale ripples. There. A flash of silver scales.

I fashion a crude spear from a nearby branch, sharpening the end with my makeshift knife. Patience is key. I crouch, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment. The fish darts closer. I strike.

Water splashes. The spear misses by inches. Cursing under my breath, I try again. And again. On the fourth attempt, I feel the satisfying resistance of flesh. A decent-sized trout writhes on the end of my spear.

"Dinner," I mutter, allowing myself a small smile.

As I prepare the fish, my ears prick at the sound of rustling leaves. A young deer approaches the stream, unaware of my presence. My heart races. Bigger prey means more food, but it's riskier. I weigh my options, then decide to stick with the fish. Better safe than sorry.

The chill in the air bites at my skin. I gather dry twigs and leaves, arranging them carefully. A few strikes of flint later, a small flame sputters to life. I feed it slowly, mindful of the smoke. Can't risk drawing attention.

The fire crackles softly as I cook the fish. The smell makes my mouth water. It's been so long since I've had a hot meal.

As I eat, I can't help but wonder how long I can keep this up. Surviving day to day, always on edge. But what choice do I have? The alternative... I push those thoughts away. Focus on now. On staying alive.

The fire dies down to embers. I should head into the small cave I use as shelter soon, before the darkness provides too much protection for nearby predators. But for just a moment, I allow myself to enjoy the warmth, the full belly, the illusion of safety.

My life has boiled down to a simple routine: hunt, cook, eat, bathe, sleep. Repeat. It's not much, but it's mine. No one telling me what to do, no one hurting me. Just me and the wilderness.

Today feels different though. The air's lighter, the forest quieter. No sign of orcs or humans for three whole days. It's... unsettling. I'm not used to this calm.

I make my way to the waterfall, my favorite spot. The rush of water drowns out the constant hum of fear in my head. Mist cools my skin as I approach. I close my eyes, breathe deep. For a moment, I can almost forget the scars, the pain, the years of abuse.

The rocks are slippery under my feet as I pick my way closer to the falls. I've learned every safe foothold, every treacherous patch. My body moves on autopilot, muscle memory taking over where constant vigilance usually reigns.

I reach my usual perch, a flat stone jutting out over the pool below. Sitting down, I let my legs dangle over the edge. The spray from the falls tickles my toes. It's almost... peaceful.

My shoulders relax, tension I didn't even realize I was carrying melting away. When was the last time I felt this at ease? I can't remember.

I lean back on my hands, tilt my face up to the sky. Sunlight filters through the canopy, dappling my skin with warmth. A breeze rustles the leaves, carrying the scent of water and earth.

For once, I don't feel the need to constantly scan my surroundings. My knife stays sheathed at my hip. My body isn't coiled, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Is this what safety feels like?

The water's cool against my skin as I wade into the pool beneath the falls. It's a rare luxury to feel this clean, this free. I've been wearing the same clothes for days, caked with dirt and sweat. But not anymore.

I strip off the makeshift garment - a tattered flag I found while scavenging two days ago. It's massive, clearly meant for some orc clan's display. Their loss, my gain. I bunch it up in my hands, submerging it in the clear water.

The fabric's surprisingly soft despite its rugged appearance. As I scrub, flecks of dirt cloud the water around me. I can't help but wonder about its history. Which clan did it belong to? Why was it abandoned?

Not that it matters now. It's mine, repurposed into the closest thing to proper clothing I've had in a while. Large enough to cover my body, it offers a small measure of dignity I'd almost forgotten.

I lift the fabric, watching water cascade from its folds. The original design is barely visible now, just hints of color peeking through the grime. Good. The last thing I need is to accidentally advertise allegiance to some orc clan.

My hands work methodically, wringing out excess water. The rhythmic motion is almost meditative. For a moment, I let myself imagine I'm just a normal woman doing laundry. Not a survivor. Not prey. Just... me.

The illusion shatters as quickly as it forms. My eyes scan the treeline, old habits impossible to break. The forest remains still, but I know better than to trust the quiet.

I drape the damp fabric over a nearby rock to dry. The sun's warm on my bare skin as I sink deeper into the pool. Might as well enjoy this moment of peace while it lasts.

My fingers trace the scars that mark my body. Each one a reminder of what I've endured, what I've survived. I close my eyes, letting the sound of the waterfall wash over me. For just a heartbeat, I allow myself to feel something other than fear or anger.

Hope. Fragile and fleeting, but there all the same.

The water embraces me like an old friend, cool and inviting. I can't remember the last time I allowed myself this simple pleasure. Diving beneath the surface, I open my eyes, marveling at the way sunlight dances through the ripples above.

For once, I'm not Hayden the survivor. I'm just a woman enjoying a swim.

I surface, gasping, and shake droplets from my hair. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, foreign and almost startling. When was the last time I laughed?

Emboldened by the rare moment of joy, I dive again. This time, I push off the rocky bottom, propelling myself through the water like some aquatic creature. My muscles sing with effort, a pleasant burn after years of constant tension.

I break the surface once more, floating on my back. The sky above is a perfect blue, dotted with wispy clouds. It's hard to believe that such beauty can exist in a world that's been so cruel.

My guard is down. That's my only excuse for what happens next.

"Hey!"

The voice shatters my peace like a rock through glass. I whirl around, water splashing, heart pounding. How did I not hear someone approach?

There, on the bank, stands a figure. My vision blurs with panic as I try to focus. Orc or human? Friend or foe?