Gathering some dry leaves and sticks, Erik was able to make a small fire. He knew very well that the light might call the attention of some curious eyes, but it was better than sleeping in the cold. As he watched the sky turns from dark orange to pure black, he cooked a meal his mother had already prepared for him and pitched his tent. Inside it, he laid down his sleep bag and placed his wooden sword at his side, together with a small, but sharp, knife. If something tried to enter his rut, it would taste his blade.
From inside his tent, he heard the chirping of the crickets, the gibbering of the bats, and the wind, shaking some branches, making their leaves crash into the wood. Nature's orchestra became his lullaby as he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, his body tired from all the walking he made today and all the walking he knew he would need to make tomorrow...
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