I stir awake, moaning groggily from the blistering pain I feel on my head, hands and feet. It’s like I’m being cooked alive. I crack open my eyes - blinding light forces me to squeeze them shut. Drawing deep breaths to stymie instinctive panic, I inhale the scent of the ocean, forest and earth, and the pervading hotness enwrapping me that is worsening my pain. I cannot remember the details of a memory, but I know without a doubt I have been put into this situation before: I become aware that the sun is killing me. There is no time to think about the whys and wherefores. It won’t be long before I pass out.

I scramble onto fours and crawl towards a significant drop in temperature I can sense. There is a long stretch of shade ahead of me; the forest is ahead. With every movement my body agonises. I must be bleeding: viscous liquid rolls down my face and sand is plastered to my palms and feet, scraping and digging deeper into my raw skin. The uncomfortable clothing I am wearing traps the heat in like an oven, but it is protecting my torso and limbs from the worst of the sunlight.

It is too slow going. I venture to stand up - a wave of nausea strikes me and I almost topple over. With my hands spread out in front of me, blindly, I shuffle as quickly as I can into forest cover. 

The pain is unrelenting; my whole body feels like it’s on fire, starting with my head, and fear redoubles in me. I insist on a steady pace. To fall and to reorient myself will waste valuable time. 

At last, the smell of fresh dew greets me as the landscape changes. Shadows solace me. The wet grass and firm earth feel good; and instantly, with direct sunlight out of the way, my skin cools and I feel relief. It isn’t much but it buys me time to search out a cave or a fallen log hideout wherein I can rest and heal until nightfall. 

All around me I can hear birds and insects chirp, leaves rustling in the breeze, the waves roil on the shoreline in the distance. My breathing is laboured.  A few large mammals bolt off away from me when I step closer in their direction. I guess they are wild boars from their thermal shapes and whines and grunts. My hunger pangs but I am too weak to hunt. There is a strange sound that pricks me into alert. It is faint but distinct. I can hear humans whispering. They are far enough that I can’t sense anything else about them, but I will have ample warning should they come towards me.

I do not yell out for help although the yearning to feed is almost overpowering. There is no previous experience from which to draw reasons, but instinct warns me to stay quiet and I comply. There is no telling what sort of danger they pose. Still, the noise I make is loud to my ears. Veering away from them I hurry, stumbling over tree roots and feeling my way from trunk to trunk, going into thicker canopy.