In the dining room of an expansive farmhouse, An older gentleman packed a bag for a trip grabbing small bags of rations.

  “You know you shouldn’t go alone, Kragen,” his right hand said.

  Kragen was a stoic man of few words. His plaid shirt was thickly padded for the cold nights he was preparing to endure. Layers of roped muscle tensed in his forearms.

  “You I can’t, Carissa.”

  Carissa and her silver gray eyes pierced his back as he continued to pack. “No, it’s not that you can't, it’s that you won’t.” she countered.

  Kragen placed a ration on the table next to his pack. “Rissa, you know what I am. You know why I go on these trips alone. I won’t be party to a massacre if I bring others with me. Besides, You need the extra hands around here while I am gone. We barely have people to keep this place afloat.”

  As much as Carissa hated to admit it, he was right. The latest employee to leave had the rumor to have been accepted to a school on the other side of the country to expand his ritual knowledge. Before that it was a carpenter, and before that it was a trapper. Kragen would need to go to town soon and try to hire more people.

  “I just hate that you do this alone every month,” Carissa admitted.

  “I’ve been doing this my entire life you know this, why are you bringing it up that it bothers you now?”

  “Your age mainly.”

  Kragen chuckled and turned to look at her while leaning on the table. “Carissa, forty is hardly old for my kind. I am hardly in my prime.”

  “Yes, but the dangers are not. Don’t underestimate youth with territorial and animalistic instincts.”

  He bowed his head to her. “I never do. Hey, maybe this time I’ll come back with a new hand.”

  …

  Logan tried to make traps, just simple leg traps out of vines. To his dismay only about one in four were actually vines.

  His arms had a few bite marks. Their venom wasn’t powerful enough to hurt him according to the reason of the questionable sanity.

  Grass Viper has used Special Attack [Venom Bite] on you.

  You have been afflicted with [Grass Viper Venom]

  Your resistance has negated [Grass Viper Venom]

  “How can I resist snake venom?” he asked, pulling the snake out of his hand and throwing it off hoping it died from the impact of the throw. “Especially with how many bites I’ve gotten.”

  Logan was starting to get hungry. Or at least, hungrier than he already was. He laid his hand on his stomach. His stomach was startling. He was relatively in shape given his job within the marines. The small muffin top he had at his waist was not there.

  “What the hell,” he commented. “A berry gave me abs?”

  It was the only thing that he could think of since that was all he ate for the past day or so.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “At least I don’t seem to look like a holocaust victim.”

  As he continued his trek, Logan started looking for a place to set up a camp or at the very least a spot to stay dry in case it rained during the night.

  Some of the canopy over him seemed like a good place to lay his head, but he knew if it rained hard enough he would be soaked; the last thing he wanted was hypothermia.

  Looking around at the ground it didn’t entirely look like it would be very productive on creating a fire.

  “Well shit,” he said tapping his foot on the ground seeing some water coming up under his weight. “A fire is definitely out. It is not like I can snuggle up against a grizzly.”

  He stopped to think about it for a moment. “Actually, I probably could do that,” he postulated, tapping his forefinger against his chin. “It would be the jaws I would need to worry about. AH, fuck it, I’m gonna find a bear to sleep with.”

  After about an hour Logan gave up on finding a bear. It would’ve been a bit sooner if he didn’t stumble upon a few tracks that looked a lot like something that looked like bear tracks, but they were few and far inbetween. He heard small woodland creatures that sounded like squirrels and chipmunks. Like a bittersweet memory he wished he had a slingshot or a bb gun. Growing up hunting whitetails with his father. After the sun came up that is all he would hear for most of the time he was in a deer stand. The chittering and chattering of the creatures railed on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

  Looking down at his feet he looked for a pebble or small rock. Finding one he picked it up and threw it in the direction of his annoyance.

  Thwack was all he heard as the rock hit a dense branch. He watched for something to come from the trees. Hoping to score one of the small creatures as a form of food. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so lucky.

  “Well, at least they stopped.”

  ,,,

  Logan knelt next to a stream to see if it was safe to drink; or looked safe since he didn’t have close let alone anything to filter it.

  Cupping his hands together he knelt down and drank what he could.

  The chilled frosted his insides as he felt it go down his throat. Logan shook for a brief moment to warm himself.

  “Al’ight so far so good,” he said, looking down at the water. He cupped up some more and washed his face, neck, and shoulders. The icy chill from the water felt good. He would have swam in it, but with how shallow it was he would end up getting more sand and dirt on him than he would be taking off and thought better.

  He stepped off hoping to be going towards civilization of some kind. Or at least he hoped.

  …

  Logan made his way down a trial that seemed to be going higher in elevation. Climbing and battling the incline. He had to stop and catch his breath. He turned to see the landscape he travelled through.

  Trees went on for miles. Each individual tree looked like the bristle on a toothbrush. “It's sad that I can't enjoy the view.” he lamented, knowing that he has other priorities.

  Looking further up the perceived summit. “Ya, nope fuck that.”

  He knew his luck and figured he would meet a mountain lion or cougar when he didn’t want to. He was naked, hesitant to eat anything, and most importantly unarmed. Looking down over his body at many of the small wounds. Looking over all the small pin-sized holes. He noticed something else.

  “Why is it that small?” he asked aloud, disappointed. “It’s not that cold out.”

  …

  After backtracking the path. Logan found himself back at the creek sized river. Only one difference, predators.

  Logan crouched behind a tree. The grooves and crevices pushing back against his shoulders. His breath steady as it fought against the sight of wolves, making his heart want to race.

  Their size was bigger than a mastiff. Prominent canine fangs glistened from the water and saliva coming from the monstrous joules as they drank. The fur of it had a strange pattern of swirls in such a pattern that they appeared to be moving while standing still.

  “They are beautiful wolves,” Logan noted to himself. Having a feeling that one would give him trouble.

  He counted the number of heads and paws. Something nagged at him that something wasn’t right about them. He noted six heads and three sets of paws.

  It was until the wind shifted and lured his scent toward them, and two of the heads looked his way.

  [New Quest Objective] Eat or be Eaten

  “Well fuck.”