The sun, when it finally crested the tree line, found Elias already awake, propped against the rough bark wall of his lean-to. He hadn't slept deeply, not truly. The image of the rabbit's final, terrified moments had replayed itself in the flickering firelight, a persistent, unwelcome guest in his thoughts, each whimper a fresh barb. Yet, the gnawing hunger was gone, replaced by a dull ache in his overfull stomach and a strange, heavy stability. He felt… anchored, in a way he hadn't since arriving. He was no longer a ghost drifting through this world; he had taken from it, and in doing so, had become part of its brutal, unyielding cycle.
He rose stiffly, his bark tunic creaking. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. His first act was to retrieve the rabbit's head, which he'd set aside wrapped in a large leaf. He found a spot beneath a young, slender tree whose species SAGE hadn't yet identified, and with his fire-hardened digging stick – a rudimentary tool he had made yesterday that was more pointed branch than proper implement – he scraped a shallow hole. He placed the head within. Here, in the cold daylight, staring at the small patch of disturbed earth, he felt a profound, aching guilt creep in like a chill through his bones. He covered it gently with soil. "Thank you," he whispered, the words feeling inadequate but necessary. "Rest."
He stood there for a long moment, the silence of the forest pressing in. He was a builder, not a destroyer. Yet, here he was. The thought was a leaden weight. But then, another surfaced, harder, sharper: survival demanded it. The lesser god's bargain was not for the faint of heart.
He returned to his camp. The pelt lay stretched and pegged to a flat piece of bark, scraped clean and drying slowly. A few tendons, also cleaned, hung from a branch. The larger bones, stripped of meat, were piled neatly. Resources. That's what they were now. Ugly, perhaps, but vital.
He took a long drink of the cool, boiled water from his bark container. The act itself was a small comfort, a reminder of yesterday's hard-won progress. But it wasn't enough. A new resolve, forged in the crucible of hunger and the grim reality of the kill, solidified within him. I'm done reacting, he thought, his gaze sweeping over his meagre camp. I'm done being at the mercy of every shift in the wind, every rumble in my stomach. It's time to get ahead of this world.
"SAGE," he said, his voice firm, deliberately pushing away the lingering shadow of the rabbit. "We need better tools. More durable. More specialized."
"Affirmative, Elias. Expanding your tool arsenal will significantly increase efficiency in resource acquisition and shelter construction. Based on available materials and projected needs, I recommend prioritising a hafted cutting implement for heavier woodwork – an axe or hatchet – a piercing tool for working with bark and hide, and improving your digging implement."
The next few hours were a testament to laborious ingenuity. For the hatchet, he searched for a suitable stone, heavier and denser than the flint he'd used for his knife. SAGE identified a piece of dark, fine-grained igneous rock as promising. Shaping it was brutal, mind-numbing work. He sat for what felt like an eternity, chipping away at it with another, harder stone, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack a monotonous soundtrack to his efforts. Dust filled his nostrils. His shoulders burned. Twice, a poorly aimed strike sent a shard of the precious stone flying off, threatening to ruin his work, and a curse ripped from his raw throat. He almost threw it down in frustration.
"Persevere, Elias," SAGE's voice cut in, calm as ever. "The projected time savings for wood processing with a functional hatchet are estimated at 60-75% over your current knife, significantly impacting shelter construction and fuel gathering efficiency."
Gritting his teeth, Elias continued, grinding its edge against a rougher sandstone slab he found near the spring until his fingers were raw and his patience frayed to a thread. His hands, already calloused and sore, were soon bleeding from fresh abrasions and splintered from the rough wood he selected for the haft – a stout, straight branch of hardwood. He laboriously split one end, fitted the roughly shaped stone head, and bound it with multiple tight windings of the strongest vine cordage he could find, reinforcing the binding with sticky resin SAGE identified as exuding from a type of coniferous tree.
The result was a clumsy, top-heavy tool, but when he swung it against a deadfall limb, it bit into the wood with a satisfying thunk, deeper and more impactful than his knife ever could. A small, grim smile touched his lips.
Next, a bone awl. He selected one of the rabbit's long leg bones, already cleaned. Using a sharp sliver of flint, he patiently scraped and ground one end to a fine, wickedly sharp point. It fit surprisingly well in his hand, a macabre but undeniably useful implement.
His digging stick, too, received an upgrade. He found a thicker, straighter piece of hardwood, charred its end in the fire to harden it further, and then used his new hatchet to roughly shape one end into a flattened, spade-like point.
By midday, his hands throbbed, his back ached, and he was coated in sweat and grime. But arrayed before him were a crude hatchet, a bone awl, and an improved digging stick. They weren't elegant. They wouldn't win any design awards. But they were extensions of his will, tools to carve a semblance of order from this wilderness. He also began a small pile of promising materials SAGE had pointed out: lengths of particularly strong vine, sheets of thick bark peeled from fallen trees, more select pieces of hardwood for future projects.
With his new arsenal, he turned his attention to the lean-to. It had served its purpose, but it was a flimsy, drafty affair. "SAGE, shelter reinforcement. Let's make this more permanent, more defensible against the elements."
"Agreed. Focus on increasing structural integrity and thermal efficiency. I recommend adding crossbeams for roof support, utilizing your collected bark sheets for improved thatching, and constructing a heat-reflective wall."
Using his hatchet, Elias laboriously chopped down several slender saplings, trimming them into rough poles. These he lashed to the existing frame of his lean-to, creating a more robust structure. He remembered the formula for load-bearing angles from his first-year statics class, the intricate calculations for steel and concrete, and then laughed, a short, bitter sound. Here, bark was his steel and vines his concrete. Some principles held; others were brutally simplified by necessity.
He then began layering the thick sheets of bark over the roof, overlapping them like crude shingles. It was slow, frustrating work; the bark was stiff and often cracked, but gradually, a more solid canopy took shape.
For the heat-reflective wall, he gathered numerous flat stones, similar to those he'd used for boiling water. He stacked these carefully on the side of the fire pit closest to the lean-to's entrance, creating a low, solid barrier. "The stone will absorb and radiate heat inwards, SAGE?"
"Correct. This will increase the ambient temperature within the shelter by an estimated 4 to 7 degrees Celsius, depending on fire intensity and external wind conditions. Additionally, consider the roof slope. A steeper angle will improve water runoff. I calculate an optimal angle of 35 degrees relative to the horizontal for this structure, given prevailing wind patterns and precipitation estimates."
Elias squinted at his handiwork. He'd made it too shallow. With a grunt, he adjusted the supporting poles, using his hatchet to trim and re-notch where necessary until SAGE confirmed the angle was more efficient. He also left a small, intentional gap near the apex of the roof at the far end. "For smoke, SAGE. Better ventilation should draw most of it out there, rather than in my face."
"A sound engineering principle, Elias. Passive ventilation will indeed reduce smoke accumulation."
His final improvement for the day was a raised sleeping platform. He constructed a low frame of branches inside the shelter and covered it with a thick layer of interwoven smaller branches, topped with several layers of bark. It was still hard, but it would lift him off the cold, damp ground.
"Not bad," he muttered, stepping back to survey his handiwork, hands on his hips.
"Sufficient for current projected environmental stressors, Elias," SAGE replied. "Though I would not recommend inviting guests who possess opposable thumbs and a critical eye for aesthetics."
Elias actually snorted a laugh, surprised. Maybe the AI was developing a personality, or maybe he was just losing his mind.
As the afternoon wore on, a different kind of focus took hold. The immediate success of the rabbit, despite its traumatic nature, had proven the viability of trapping. He needed a more reliable system. His mentality was shifting. The hesitation, the revulsion, was still there, a faint echo in the back of his mind, but it was being slowly, steadily overridden by a cold, practical imperative. This wasn't about the thrill of the hunt; it was about the brutal mathematics of survival. Calories in versus calories out.
"SAGE, let's talk about a trap network. More refined designs. Higher probability of success."
"Certainly. The Figure-4 deadfall trigger is significantly more sensitive and reliable than your previous improvised mechanism. Snares, utilising your vine cordage and a bent sapling as a spring, are effective for small game. For larger prey, or in high-traffic areas, a concealed pit trap can be employed, though its construction is more labour-intensive with your current tools."
Elias became a man possessed. He revisited the area where he'd caught the rabbit, his eyes now sharper, more attuned to the subtle signs of animal passage. He found more faint trails, areas where the undergrowth was disturbed, even impressions in the soft earth SAGE identified as potential bedding spots. He used his bone awl to scratch small, coded marks on nearby trees, mapping his intended network. He spent an hour meticulously crafting several Figure-4 trigger mechanisms, the small, precisely notched sticks a testament to his patience. He set three deadfalls, baited again with berries and a few scraps of root. He then attempted two snares, struggling with the tension of the bent saplings and the finicky placement of the nooses. As he was testing the trigger of one snare with a stick, it snapped shut with surprising force, the vine loop cinching tight just inches from his fingers. A jolt of adrenaline shot through him, a stark reminder that these weren't abstract designs; they were machines designed to kill.
He even began digging a small pit trap, using his improved digging stick and his bare hands, in a narrow game trail between two thickets. It was back-breaking work, and by the time the sun began to dip towards the horizon, it was only a couple of feet deep. He covered it loosely with branches and leaves, knowing it was a long shot.
As he worked, a familiar discomfort prickled. "SAGE," he said, pausing from adjusting a snare loop. "Non-lethal traps. Are there viable options for containment rather than immediate… termination?"
"Live traps, such as box traps or cage traps, are feasible but require more complex construction and materials you do not currently possess in sufficient quantity. Their success rate for wary animals is also generally lower than lethal variants, and they require more frequent checking to prevent undue stress or escape of the captured animal. For your current priority of caloric acquisition, lethal traps offer a higher probability of return on energy invested."
Elias nodded slowly, the pragmatic logic undeniable. But the question had been asked, a small seed of his former self still pushing through the hardening soil of necessity.
As true night fell, he sat before his significantly improved shelter. The fire burned brightly, its heat amplified by the stone wall, casting a warm, inviting glow into the small space. His new tools lay beside him, crude but potent symbols of his labour. Out in the darkening forest, his traps lay waiting.
He didn't smile. Not exactly. But something in his chest loosened, a knot of constant, grinding tension easing, like a gear finally slotting into place. The campfire's crackle wasn't just warmth—it was promise. Out in the forest, his traps waited. In here, his work, his order, endured. The world, this indifferent wilderness, had tried to break him from the moment he arrived. But it would have to try harder.