It had been a good hour or so since I left camp.  Every step upstream through the small creek just managed to make me more miserable.  Being alone with your thoughts in a completely foreign place is never a good thing after all.  The strange reaction from the griffin just played in my head over and over as the ground passed.  Squishing mud and the soft gurgling water were my only companions as I trudged onward.

About a mile in the distance, I could see the canopy of leaves thinning out as pillars of golden light trickled down into the gloom.  In a dense forest like this, it only meant one thing;  There would be a clearing of sorts past where the trees thinned out.  After a moment of consideration and planning, I decided it was safest to set camp nearby as the woods were still fairly dense.  

With a little tugging, the cart slid out of the water to join my dripping form on the muddy shore.  On one hand, it was nice to be out of that cool water and back on land.  Downside is mud and dealing with soaking clothes.  Swearing under my breath with every soggy step, I worked up the small embankment and toward a gap in the brush.  The plants around here were still strange by any experience of mine, growing in odd clusters here and there.  Thankfully there was enough room to slip the cart between plants and trees without having to cut a trail.

Just out of eyesight was a cluster of plants that would fit my needs perfectly.  I didn’t want to go too far into the brush and get lost after all.  The site was close enough to the stream that I could easily find my way back even in the dark, as well as being able to hear anything coming up the creek.  With a group of the odd trees at my back and a cluster of brush on all sides, this felt like the perfect place to set camp.

First things first, before getting too close to my chosen site there was something important to do.  I had no idea if there were bears around here, but the griffins could smell blood.  Keeping them away from camp should be the same, at least I hoped.  With that in mind, I tugged the bin containing the remaining bloody bags out of the cart.  Keeping my belongings in sight, I trekked deeper into the forest for a short distance until a branch meeting my needs poked out from one of the trees.  A minute or two later, the bin was strung up from the branch to deal with after setting camp.

Twenty minutes later…

Setting up the hide was more of a pain than I imagined in the place I decided on, but it was damn well invisible.  The mirrors and netting made the unit blend seamlessly into the brush surrounding it.  After wheeling the cart into the blind, I grabbed my pack and rifle with one thing on my mind.  Dinner.  I wanted to conserve what preserved food I had, so the menu for tonight was pony.  Small bits at first, as I wasn’t sure if it was poisonous.  Setting up the pocket stove was a simple affair really.  Screw the propane canister onto the bottom of the burner and then light it with a match.  A small strip of the meat was lightly dusted with some salt and pepper before being speared on the end of a knife and held over the blue flame.

Two hours.  Two freaking hours before I was able to actually eat.  It was worth it to find out that the pony things weren’t poisonous, but considering all I’d eaten earlier today was some dehydrated food for breakfast I was starving.  In the end, pony actually wasn’t that bad tasting.  It was considerably leaner than beef, but without the gamey taste of moose.  Almost a sweetness to the meat, if you could call it that.  Personally, I was a little bit busy sitting on a log and cooking something better than reconstituted goop, so maximum flavor wasn’t peak on my list.

Too many memories came to mind as I cooked and ate; all the hunting trips with my family and friends.  Family and friends who probably had no idea where I’d disappeared to.  The State Troopers had probably found my truck days ago, but obviously hadn’t found me as even I had no idea where the hell I was.  Mom was probably frantic and burning a hole in my voicemail along with my sisters.  When I get back, IF I get back, I’d be in a world of hurt.

I really need to figure out where the hell I am and find some people to get me home.

In the dying light, I began to pack up the small stove so I could finish my tasks for the night.  I at least wanted to make it down to the clearing and see what was there.  That way I’d know what was to come when I headed out in the morning.  The meat was quickly strung up again, hopefully out of reach of any predators.  A short trip later, I was detaching the smaller pack from rest and strapping it around my waist.  Considering this was just to be a short hike, I didn’t need to carry the mass of gear with me.  Out of a pocket, I fished out the small Surefire flashlight and clipped it to my hat, in case I needed light to navigate.  My last act was to push the calibrate button my my “tracker.”  It had a fancy name, but it was basically a glorified compass and pedometer.  Hit a button to start it, and another to flip the settings to lead you back to the marked location.

Rifle in hand, I set out to see what could be found.  The old growth of the forest made movement somewhat easy as the brush was either clustered or small enough to step over.  Every few trees, I’d pull a trail tack out of my pouch and push it into the trunk above head height.  To most they just looked like white dots, but if you know what to look for they would guide you back the way you came.  Each time I’d pause to set a tack, I’d listen to the forest around me.  The birds chirped and tweeted from above and the occasional squirrel chittered angrily as I passed, all of which were good signs.

The sun was starting to set by the time I reached the edge of the clearing.  Fresh growth sprouted everywhere, including a few small trees that I swore were willows as I inched my way to the treeline.  Every step was planned out ahead of time, every movement as noise would carry into the field.  I had picked a spot under the crook of a fallen tree as my vantage point, and each movement carefully pulled me that way until I was kneeling under it.  The sickly sweet scent of rot and old leaves filled the air while I finally settled into a comfortable spot.  Propping the rifle up on another section of broken trunk, it settled into the familiar spot on my shoulder before the view stunned me.

The clearing was not what I expected.  A small hamlet sat on the far side of what was a decently sized and well tilled field.  What stunned me the most was the horses...er...ponies.  Entire groups of foals were running around near the small stone wall surrounding the village.  With a quick twist, the image got clearer through the scope even though there was a crosshair dancing among the ponies.  I could see the different colored foals kicking around a blue ball in some sort of game with other ponies sitting on the sidelines.  One of them looked to be wearing an apron and have a small table with drinks on it.  It didn't make sense.

Animals don’t…

Didn’t the griffin seem freaked out about the pony meat?  It isn’t poisonous.

But that…

Oh fuck...

I barely made it out from under the tree and my sitting position before the realization of my dinner fully hit me.

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