So, they weren’t quite as stupid as you thought.

The thought came in what might have been Grandmama’s voice or might have been her own mocking internal monologue. Either way, it did nothing to mute the shattering realization.

She’d been found out, and her punishment was to be exiled from the settlement. So Papa took her to where she could not make her way back and abandoned her. Perhaps he presumed that, with rudimentary skills and equipment, she could take care of herself. At least, for some time.

Tears formed in her eyes, and pain radiated in her heart at the stinging betrayal by her family.

She looked back at the ridgeline. Maybe she could simply journey back the way they came. Well, maybe not simply—she hadn’t memorized the landmarks, so finding the right path back may be more difficult than she thought.

Still, it was worth a try.

After packing her gear, she started trudging up the ridge to the cliff-face, but no sooner had she begun than doubts flooded in. Even if by some miracle she found the village, it would not change the fact that she’d been exiled. They might exile her again, or worse, put her to death.

Papa’s words from last night echoed in her mind: “People who kill are beyond hope.”

So, before she even reached the apex of the ridge, she turned around and made her way back. At the campsite, she sat and stared out toward the horizon, at the thin blue line marking the Gulf waters.

What now? The forest had ‘small people’ who weren’t necessarily friendly, and the only people like her in the area were vicious bandits.

They did you a favor. You’re free.

Free to die, you mean. Leave me alone.

The voice—whether Grandmama’s or her own—fell silent.

She fought the sobs that clawed at her hope, trying to focus on something else. The burbling waters of the spring interrupted her thoughts, but then it occurred to her. She had some of what she needed.

Water was number one. Plenty of firewood from the surrounding forests. A bow and arrows, a knife, and some leftover mule deer. Warm clothes.

Papa may have abandoned her, but he didn’t do so without giving her the means to survive. She need only figure out how to do things for herself. A tall order for a thirteen-year-old, but that just meant being creative.

Plus, she had the Old Ways. What made her a pariah back at the settlement might yet save her skin in the wilderness. She was not without resources, but her knowledge was lacking. There was no means to correct that.

What to do? She had water—now she needed shelter, someplace safe from animals and the weather. Where would that be?

She looked around the rock face. Some caverns existed, but she was leery of them. The potential for snakes or other unwanted residents made her skin crawl. Plus, she’d be too exposed.

The woods around the spring might have potential if she could climb high enough. Then again, she might fall and kill herself in the process.

Build something? That had some appeal, though it would take some time.

She almost laughed at the thought. Time was something she had in abundance.

Maybe a lean-to built from wood. No, it would be too flimsy. Besides, she needed firewood anyway. One thing she had plenty of was rocks, though many were too heavy for her to carry. However, some she could manage.

She accumulated a lot of stones and tried to lay them out in an outline of a small shelter, something she could fit her gear into. By the time she’d done that, her stomach had begun to grumble.

She had to find something to eat. A quick scan of the area revealed several bushes, some with red berries, others with dark blue berries, and finally some with white berries. She knew some of the plants were edible, but not all of them. So she tried each, quickly finding which she could stomach, which tasted awful, or which made her feel strange.

In the long-term, however, she needed to hunt.

* * *

Over the next few days, she pushed hard to see if her hunting skills could fill the gnawing gap in her diet. The waterhole was good for finding game, but it wasn’t a guarantee of success. Often, the best she could do was try to kill a bird. The larger beasts shook off her arrows, as she couldn’t quite draw them with enough strength to seriously hurt the animal. In some cases, arrows would break, or worse, the animal would flee with the arrow in it, leaving her short another missile.

The abundance of small rocks led her to another realization: she could use a sling or throw them. In that case, the Old Ways helped, though she still had problems throwing the rocks hard enough to be effective.

Days passed slowly, the cold air on the ridgeline chilling her bones each night, and the constant hunt for food, and building herself a decent shelter meant no time to rest.

Finally, one night when the moon was full, she sat next to the fire, stomach grumbling because the bird she’d eaten was barely a mouthful. She stared up at the sky, exhausted.

How much longer could she maintain this before she no longer had the strength to keep up the struggle?

The knowledge that should have come from Grandmama’s voice—the magical solutions, the spells that could make things easier—seemed distant now, fragmented. She could remember fragments, pieces of wisdom, but not the complete picture. It was as if Grandmama’s essence was fading, merging so completely with her own thoughts that she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

She was truly alone now. Not just physically, but in every way that mattered.

And tomorrow, she would have to figure out how to survive one more day.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

For however long she had left.