At the sight of the man’s body, I cuss. Loudly. What was it he had said before he passed out? How do I know he’s not dead? Still cussing, I lean down and hold a finger under his nose. He’s still breathing, I think; it’s hard to tell that way. The thought hits me that I would know if he was dead by the smell of him. If I can smell the life in him, I could sense it when he died. Lucky for me, he’s not dead. My eyes move towards the area he pointed at. There’s nothing but a small box. Upon further instruction, I notice that it’s filled with little sticks with a strong smelling red paint at the end. On the back of the box, there’s a scratched up strip of rough paper. Carefully, I break off one of the sticks, surprised at how flimsy they are. They aren’t weapons, and they aren’t food. An urge to scratch the stick across the rough paper hits me, and I do so, slowly, the red part meeting the rough paper with a sound that gives me goosebumps. Nothing happens. Faster maybe?

I scare myself with a scream when the stick bursts into flames. Without hesitation, I throw the stick to the ground, taking several steps away from the little fire that is starting. Matches. He found matches. There’s nothing scary about those. Shoving the box in my pocket, I stomp out the fire before it spreads. This guy must be stupid, passing out at the sight of fire. Doesn’t he know we’ll need it to cook food and stay warm? Rubbing my temple, I kneel down and stare at him. How am I supposed to get to shelter now? I would either have to carry him or drag him, and by the sight of him, dragging isn’t a good option. He would probably fall apart. But night is falling, and I need to move. Fast. 

Whatever, I’ll carry him. Without any trace of gentleness, I pick the man up and sling him over my shoulder. I’m surprised I have the strength to do so, but it’s like he’s barely there. It’s easy to walk straight, following what I think is the direction of the mountain I saw from the top of the trees. As the sun begins to set, the incline of the ground increases, and I’m breathing heavier every second. The trees thin, too, until I’m facing a steep hill with just as many trees. These are different though, taller and skinnier. They have big heads, making them good shade trees, but they are thin and easy to walk under. This is what a forest feels like, I think. The mountain stretches up above me, as far as I can see. The top isn’t visible, but I sense it lies somewhere above the tree tops. Walking on ahead, I kick something and cry out, swaying under the invisible weight of the man. Under my feet are these huge rocks covering the ground. They go on for as long as I can see as well, up onto the mountain side. There’s a literal line where they began, with no pebbles or anything first. It doesn’t seem very natural. With much more effort than before, I continue walking, not almost climbing, until I stumble upon a gaping hole where the mountain side should be. 

Is this a cave? I can’t see anything through the blackness of the cave, but I don’t sense life back there. I set the man down on the flat ground, under the shelter of the cave but still in a little light. Not enough to hurt him, because the shade of the trees is still good here, but enough that if he wakes up, he won’t freak out. I wander a little and pick up some twigs, returning with a handful of sticks. Now that I have the matches, starting a fire is easy enough, and so I just sit and wait for him to wake up, watching the way the fire casts shadows in the falling darkness.