Survival

        Elliott picked up a piece of wood off the ground, frowning at it. Too rotten. He threw it away and grabbed the next piece. Too thin. He sighed, running a dirty hand through his hair. This was harder than he'd thought. His older brother - a big survivalist nut - had mentioned once something about using saplings to make a hut. Elliott had been planning to do that, but for some reason whenever he reached for the baby trees his heart hurt and he could almost cry. Maybe it was a stupid elf thing. So now he was stuck collecting dead branches off the ground and trying to form a somewhat decent shelter.

        So far, it was going horribly. The wood he'd collected was only good enough for firewood, and he was no closer to making a treehouse than he was over an hour ago. To make things worse, it was about to rain. The wind was picking up, the clouds were darkening and the air carried the scent of ozone. Elliott climbed back up into the tree he'd chosen, dumping the wood on the branch, and curled up with his head buried in his knees. This was never going to work. He may as well just give up and let himself be eaten by orcs, the way this was going. Why did he ever think he could do this?

        The sunlight on the branch quickly began fading away, replaced by shadows. He sniffled. That was probably the clouds covering the sun. 

        But then the wind stopped, and he looked up in confusion. The tree had curled it's branches around him, forming a shelter-like thing. As he watched, the branches wound themselves together until he was sitting in a small hut with a single entrance/exit. Wow. He blinked in surprise and confusion, but decided to shake off the befuddlement and ignore the impossibility of what just happened. He put his hand on the bark and, feeling like an idiot, whispered, "Thank you."

        God, he hoped it wasn't some wizard that saw how pitiful he was and decided to help out, because he'd just thanked a tree. Elliott breathed out a long breath, sniffled, then leant against the wall and closed his eyes. Now that he was moderately safe, he could sleep.

        And sleep he did. He woke up with a crick in his neck and the imprints of bark on his skin, but refreshed. Of course, as was typical for his luck, when he woke up it was raining. He emptied the M&Ms into a pocket of his bag and held the packet outside to try and collect rainwater, but he only got a few drops. He had to hold it out manually since if he set it out there it'd blow away, and his arm got wetter than the packet. Whatever; he knew where a freshwater creek was. 

        On the bright side, he found an old sandwich and a bracelet-making kit in one of the pockets of his bag, so he spent the next hour savouring the sandwich (beef and lettuce) while threading the asexual colours of beads onto a piece of thread. Since he still had time after he finished his first bracelet, he made one with the colours for aromantic...Ness? aromanticism? Whatever, he made it with aromantic-coloured beads. Then he grew bored of beading and instead paced around the hut, daydreaming for over an hour. Oh! And he figured out why Aragorn knew he was an elf, even though his ears were covered. He glowed. Not much, but in the darkness of his hut, it was very visible.

        Ugh, he was so bored. Usually on a rainy day, he'd read a blook, write or watch a movie. Now there was nothing to do but make bracelets. And just like that, he had an idea. Elliott grabbed his notebook and pencil, then flipped through his notebook until he found a half-finished short story for him to continue, using the light of his... skin, to see.

        'She fell backwards into the pit, mouth gaping in a silent scream, emerald eyes wide and tearful as she hurtled towards death. Katie looked down at where her victim had landed on the hard, unforgiving stones with cold eyes. It was a strangely beautiful sight; eyes closed as if sleeping, hair like spun gold splayed about her head.'

        Elliott trailed off, biting the end of his pencil. Did he really want to kill that character? Yeah, why not. He wrote out another three words, but then looked up as the rain stopped. He supposed he actually had to be responsible and do something other than write, now. He put his notebook away and slung his bag over his shoulder, climbing out the small hole and down the tree.

        He breathed in deeply, savouring the scent of petrichor. It was his favourite smell, just above 'old books' and 'musty linen cabinet' on his list. With a sigh, he gathered the nerve to leave his tree. He just needed to find a fruit tree, strawberry bush, or a place to fish. Those were all he could do. He couldn't hunt and even if he could he wouldn't be able to take a knife to an adorable animal. He wasn't a vegetarian by any means, but he preferred not to look an adorable bunny in the eyes before killing and eating it. And he wasn't confident enough to eat berries without knowing what they were. 

        So he journeyed out, making sure to scuff the ground tons with every footstep so that there was no chance of losing his hut. Even after an hour of walking, he found absolutely nothing. So he turned back and went to the tree, then back to the creek. Of course, he checked that the elves were gone first. 

       Elliott grabbed a long stick and used his pocketknife to sharpen the end, then waited by the creek. He could see fish swimming around, but they were much too far for him to get. One swam by and, with excitement swirling in his gut, he stabbed the stick down. He got nothing but pond weeds. It was obvious he wasn't going to get a fish on the first try, so he shook away the dissapointment and tried again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

        Eventually, after three hours of fishing, he caught a small one. It was barely enough to eat, but he jumped in happiness a few times and ran back to his camp to cook it anyway. That was when he learned just how hard it was to light a fire, even without wet materials. He still had the firewood in his hut from earlier, but everything else was damp from the rain. Elliott groaned and rubbed his forehead, then struck his pocketknife against a rock again. Not a spark. Maybe it was a certain type of rock? 

         He went searching, and half an hour later he had a large pile of useless rocks and a small fire. He messily de-scaled and cooked the fish, then spent another half hour trying to eat the flesh and not any of the tiny bones or the organs that he had no clue how to take out. It was a thoroughly unsatisfactory meal that somehow made him hungrier than he was before he ate. Elliott rubbed his face and climbed back up into his hut, tired and defeated.