DAY 10

I crept through the bushes slowly, though I made far more noise than I liked. In my hands was a slingshot I had created just a few hours ago from sticks and sinew. The range was the same as throwing the rocks by hand, but it hit harder and had the benefit of being able to carry a lot of rocks.

Birds were essential for my next experiment, I wanted to try making arrows. That would make me feel a lot more comfortable. I wasn't a skilled archer by any means, but it had been a common part of summer camp growing up. The less I had to rely on hand to hand fighting, the better. Archery had been one of my favourite parts of summer camp growing up.

However, now that I was consciously looking for them the birds had seemed to spread the word and gone into hiding. Squinting up at the bright sky wasn't making it much easier.

After a while I found one bird, a normal sized crow, and pegged it right in the back of the head with a rock while it was distracted nibbling at a dead squirrel. I pulled the feathers out and ate the rest of it. The feathers got shoved into my pocket with the rocks and sinew. One item ticked off the list, I looked for a good branch. Being in the middle of the forest I had my pick of branches. None really caught my eye so I just grabbed one that was easy to reach.

Gnawing the branch apart was pretty quick, leaving me with a pile of sticks. I grabbed one at random and then focused my concentration on the image and feel of an arrow. When I was confident in the image I pulled out a handful of feathers and a sort of sharp piece of rock. It blurred and then I was holding an arrow. Repeating the process until I ran out of feathers left me with three arrows, and then I quickly formed a crude bow. I didn't have the patience to go back to the forge and get the one I had made there.

Taking aim at a tree trunk I drew the string back, remembering the lessons I had gotten at camp. Deep breath, draw, release. The arrow hit at a bad angle but it stuck in, dangling. For the second arrow I forced myself to slow down and focus on my form, just like they'd told us. The camp had been in a forest very similar to this one. The faint smell of pine was the same, the sound of wind, and the tension in my back as I drew another arrow. For a moment I could almost hear the voice of the coach explaining the steps. Then I released the arrow and it flew true, driving solidly into the tree.

A sudden headache flared up, enough that I had to close my eyes due to the sun being painfully bright. I staggered, dropping into a squat to keep my balance as a horrible sense of vertigo swept through me. I wanted to burrow deep into the ground, something was calling me. The sound of wind through the trees was almost like a drawn out whisper. My skin writhed with the unbearable sensation of being watched.

A moment later it passed, leaving me confused. I had just lost my train of thought. Blowing out a deep breath I stood back up. The bow felt odd in my hand and I couldn't figure out why. I reached to my hip for another arrow, and then looked down in surprise. The bow I was holding was a crudely made thing, not the professional grade recurve I had gotten used to over the years. My last arrow was stuck into the ground in front of me, I didn't have a quiver. In any case, making a quiver was a great idea. I'd have to hunt up some rabbits.

The memory had been so vivid and seamless that seeing my orangeish-green goblin hands was startling.

The arrows popped out of the tree easy enough and I walked back over to get some more practice. I really wanted to get good enough with this to be able to hit small targets like birds, but also to prepare to hunt larger things that might be able to maul me easily. Getting a good shot right on the vitals would be essential to not wasting arrows or dying the first time I tried to hunt large game

I repeated the process a few times, until I got to the 5 meter limit of the aim assist trajectory line. I stopped here, my shoulders and back aching. I wanted to keep going, but exhaustion got the better of me.

Sprawled out on a patch of carpet-like moss as the sun set, my mind wandered. I really should probably try to find a map. Right now it was just one day after another, but I needed long term plans. Information and tools were both lacking.

Right now my lead for figuring out what was going on would be finding a god, and usually people didn't get to be called gods without some smiting. I needed to make sure they wouldn't just blast me to ash as soon as I showed up. Clothing had some inherent resizing, but did armour? A set of steel plate armour would make me feel a lot more confident.

Jordan had mentioned monster gods, but not whether they were fundamentally different from human gods. Were they like me, or did they have more control, more choice? They must. I definitely wouldn't have chosen goblin if elf or "war beast" was on the table. There were perks, like the supernaturally digestive system that produced no waste at all, but it also lacked the fun parts. How long until turning into a flesh pod for a thrill seemed like a good idea?

Cutting off that line of thought, I got up and brushed off myself. The hair was coming along nicely, though it was sprouting farther down the back of my neck than would be normal for a human. Like the skin it was looking a bit mottled, brown and dark grey with spots of black. My skin also might be darker now, less orange and more golden brown. Though I wasn't sure if that was age related or from the sun.

Picking up the bow and arrows I started walking back. The night was quieter than I had grown accustomed to. I really hoped I hadn't inadvertently destabilized the region. I hadn't killed that many rabbits or birds, had I? The other goblins should all still be on the far side of the river, and there was no scent of them anyways. There was…

My steps stopped by themselves, and then when my brain caught up I crouched down. Very faintly I could detect the scent of that unknown beast. The wind was blowing fairly quickly, so it must be a long way off.

Turning around a few times to get my bearings, and doublechecking my imaginary compass, this was the opposite direction from where I had first spotted it, I had been making sure to stay on this side of the cabin to avoid it and somehow not noticed it had circled around.

Taking slow, cautious, breaths I strained to find the smallest hint of it. The forest was quiet other than the passage of the wind through the trees. Although my eyes cut through the gloom and rendered it monochrome each rustle of bush or branch had my eyes flicking to it. The strange tension was absent though, just my own fears this time.

Over the next minute or so its scent faded until it was imperceptible The wind hadn't changed direction, so it must be going farther away. I stayed there for a while to see if it crossed the wind again, until my tension faded.

I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding, standing up and rolling my shoulders a few times. Then I headed back towards the cabin.

It reminded me of my first hunting trip with my dad, years ago. I would have been maybe fourteen or so, tasked with carrying a thermos and snacks for each of us. We had been walking through a forest not too different from this one, toward a meadow. I didn't really care about the hunting part, it was mostly just good to spend time with him, after so many years of only seeing him on occasional weekends when he was in town.

The memory overlapped with what I saw, a spasm making my step falter as I stumbled over a root that flickered in an out of solidity. I fell forwards, seeing my hand pass through him, but feeling the rough wool of his jacket as I caught my balance.

Overlapping perspectives sent a wave of vertigo through me as I simultaneously fell over and stayed standing.

I pressed my face into the ground as he glanced back over his shoulder,

"You okay?" He asked, the words nothing but bursts of static noise.

I shut my eyes, clutching the bow with all my strength. The memory tore through my mind like a runaway train, going places the rails didn't allow. It was too much for me. Were my eyes still closed?

I was moving, walking with him, crawling. Sipping from the thermos, clawing at the dirt to pull up the hard and bitter root that mocked our hunger. We needed meat. We knew where to find it. Could smell it.

We looked toward the cabin and took one step, then another. I couldn't focus. There was more than just the memory, there was something else, someone else, stealing our body.

We spasmed again, falling back to the ground. I pushed the memory away, letting it unravel.

"Mine!" We growled, wrestling ourselves. We were so weak, so hungry.

The shadows deepened around us, we couldn't see them, but they could see us.

"Submit!" the chorus of whispers demanded, "Forget!", "Feed us!"

Our struggling slowed, we were tired. Why were we here, wearing man clothes?

"Mine." I whispered, as we flinched and spun around to look for me.

I was feeling strangely detached, as though suddenly realizing I was looking over my own shoulder. I could sense more of those worms inside, somehow connected to the things in the pit.

We pressed a hand against our abdomen, we could feel them now. They wanted us to forget but I made us remember. We tore our shirt, ripping it open, the worms were deep. We couldn't reach them.

"I can." I whispered.

We looked back to where the arrows had fallen, taking one halting step.

"No. Hurt." We hissed.

"Feed us!" The worms demanded again, the force of it making us stumble and fall forwards. Their shadows closed around us, choking us.

"Ours." I whispered breathlessly, they were swallowing us again.

"Ours?" We gasped, hand hesitating for a moment before reaching forwards

"Thief worm!" We shouted, lunging for the arrow and then driving it into ourselves with the last of our strength.

The pain of the wound was eclipsed by the sheer agony in our head as the worm screamed, the psychic attack tearing at us, and leaving just me hanging on. The other was gone too, buried, somewhere in the dark parts of our mind.

I groaned as suddenly I was left in control of my own mind once again, and feeling the undiluted pain of an arrow sticking out of my own stomach.

"That was dumb."

Despite the pain, I felt refreshed and more clearheaded than before. The whispering had gone, and I could only hope that was the last worm.

Carefully I pulled out the arrow, which caused the wound to bleed more than I liked but less than I anticipated. It didn't seem to have hit anything vital on me, just the parasitic worm. At least it didn't have that deep sensation of cold and weakness, like it had last time when I'd just used my claws. That had been even more dumb, but desperate times and all that.