Resting the entire night did my body good. I'm feeling entirely rejuvenated and am ready for a new day. Hearing my belly groan when I stand up reminds me of my commitment to keep myself nourished. I collect some water to boil and pine leaves to create tea.

I help myself to a bowl of soup while I wait for the tea to finish doing what tea does. Soup is still tasty and maybe even tastier on the third day. Belly full and tea still teaing I start my morning routine.

Stretching is the best way to start the morning. I don't care who you are. If you don't take the time to stretch, you'll pay for it eventually. With that in mind, I call Bones over and have him follow my lead.

Left-leg down. Hold. Switch.

Right-leg down. Hold.

Right-arm Hold. Switch.

Left-arm hold. Switch.

Right-arm up. Hold. Switch

Observing bones do the stretches that he doesn't need, I can't help but think he isn't reaching his potential. Sure he is great, better than me even. However, Bones is still a creation of my first summoning. He is the embodiment of my unrefined mana. There is no way my first attempt at summoning a minion is a masterpiece.

Our stretches end when my tea is done… boiling...? I'm not sure I quite understand the tea endgame. Maybe it is extracting…I finish my stretches when my water finishes extracting extract from the tea substances.

If I find an herbalist, I've got questions.

Piney, hot, and lightly flavored, I drink the warm beverage. I can almost feel the nutrients from the pine leaves being absorbed into my body. I slowly drink the beverage carefully to not burn my already burned mouth.

After tea, I take bones through exercises and sword forms, watching as he tries to follow my every action. It would be convenient if he could communicate back to me. Maybe he could pitch in an idea or two. I'm tired of always being the one with the plan.

After we finish our forms, I say goodbye to Bones and vanish him back to my core. Unlike minor summons like swords and knives, when I have Bones summoned, the mana it costs to create him is never returned. Instead, I am at a constant deficit maintaining around sixty percent of available mana. When he is unsummoned, death mana surges within me, restoring my pale core to full capacity.

I figure this is the case because Bones is an active summon. For him to exist, he needs an active connection to his host, hence the mana tether of sorts.

Minor summons—like a bone sword—on the other hand, are not active summons. Once mana has been used to summon a simple object, it is no longer a part of me. This would explain why I can restore mana after minor summons and why I need to touch the summons to absorb them.

Focussing on the mana, I practice cycling. Like my earlier cycling sessions, I start with breathing.

In and out.

Breathe in. Exhale out.

When my rhythm becomes natural, I exert the mana inside to follow. Constricting and expanding.

In—I pull on the mana constricting it.

Out—I push on the mana, expanding it into my middle channels, the stomach, and chest.

Satisfied with my limited control, I stop the exercise and start over.

Cycling death mana will become as natural as breathing before morning is over.

Roughly one thousand breaths and hundreds of cycle initiations later, I've got it. Now, like a muscle, death mana responds to my will, filling my middle channels on a thought.

Even though I've been sitting, I feel drained. Accessing my core over and over is exhausting. Taking a momentary break, I drink a healthy amount of water and eat a tiny amount of soup. Feeling refreshed, I dive back into cycling. This time I work on the cycling process.

Constricting my core as tight as I can, I let the mana build until it is about to burst. When I can no longer hold it, I allow the mana to disperse slowly. Even though it takes extra focus, I can feel the power refining as I learn to master the technique.

In.

Hold.

And slowly out.

Repeat.

At first, upon releasing the constricted core, mana would rush outside of my core and circulate in my middle channels. After much practice and repetition, I can get the mana to flow through the entirety of my middle and lower channels. Soon it will be my entire body. Each new channel my mana cycles through, the more refined my mana becomes.

Refined mana, I find, is easier to command and is overall better. A sword I summoned with raw death mana breaks when hit against a sword summoned with refined death mana. Likewise, refined mana will be lackluster when compared to mana cycling through the entirety of my three main channels. I keep working at cycling until finally, I reach the culmination of my cycling, absolute death mana.

To test the mana, I summon a short sword. Barely larger than a long knife, the short sword closely matches my pale gray death core mana rather than the bone-white I am used to. Not only does the color directly match my mana, but I also find that the sword formed more accurately to my design. Removed from the blade is the thick clunkiness I couldn't avoid in previous summons.

I am ecstatic with my progress and anxious to see how it improves my minion. Unfortunately, after all the cultivation, my soul is too strained to allow me to summon Bones. I'm disappointed that I don't get to immediately reap the sweet fruits of my hard labor. As soon as I can, I am summoning Bones.

My focus returns to the present. Inside my cave is dark, damp, and smokey. Much of the same can be said for me. It is time to get out. I quickly check my home, ensuring nothing is out of order. Satisfied with my assessment, I make my way outside.

Outside, it is the opposite of my cave, bright, dry, and refreshing. It's mid-afternoon when I emerge from my cave. The sounds of the forest can be heard in full.

The wind is slightly causing branches to stir rustling leaves around. The occasional bird makes its presence known, chirping and chattering. The predominant vocalist of them all, the waterfall, makes sure it's clear to all who the main act is.

Brightness from the sun causes me to squint. Defiantly, I glance back at the sun to better judge the time of day. I feel its spell take hold of me. My nose is tingling, tension is building, and then the release. My eyes are forced shut, my mouth opens without my consent, and two sneezes escape quickly and violently.

In response to my sudden outburst, the birds quit their sporadic chirping, and the wind seems to calm. There is almost complete silence, except for the waterfall, which has been waiting, performing patiently in the group until it could break out into its solo performance.

Son of a—That was uncalled for.

The bastard sun sure is a bully. Long walk through the desert? Let me just burn extra hot. No clothes to cover your skin? How about I roast you alive? Want to make eye contact? Nope, teary eyes for you. Oh, you are extra sensitive? I will draw out some violent sneezes to go with your blindness. What is that, you are cold? Too bad. I'm done trying to be warm.

Yup. The sun is a bastard, and the desert is its spoiled unloved offspring, Junior b-word. Somehow relegating the desert to a simple 'b' seems most appropriate. And if one thing is for certain, I am thorough in my pettiness.

Wiping away the water from my eyes, I continue my short journey to the pond and return to my original train of thought. It sure is nice to be outside. Fresh air, warm breeze, no smoke, and just the stunning surroundings of the forest.

Slowly wading into the chilly pond, I finally get to do what I have wanted to do since I got here. It's time to wash off the days of filth. Cultivation, it turns out, is a filthy process, and I feel like I am covered in what I now refer to as the death sweats.

Cool refreshing water engulfs my body, and I almost feel totally rejuvenated. As if wading into the waters restored my energy. Of course, it hasn't, my channels are still recovering, and my body is sore from the previous day's hike. It just feels like I am already better.

Scrubbing my body clean is a process as I have to scrape off layers of dirt and blood. The intensity of the scrubbing that I have to endure is worth it. Feeling clean has given me another boost to my morale.

More than that, I continue to have an overwhelming sense of life as I swim in the pond.

I am alive. I can feel, taste, move, learn...I can live.

Swimming in the pond opens the door to these incredible emotions, once again rejuvenating my body, mind, and soul. I fully embrace the moment, letting myself be absorbed in the water.

Swimming feels more than natural. I am having a hard time getting myself out of the water. I'm floating on my back and decide that this is as good of a time and place as any to make plans for the rest of the day. Really I should have done that in the morning. Yet I have no regrets.

What are mornings for if not to waste?

Turns out, after a moment of planning while floating, there isn't much to plan that hasn't already been planned. I need clothing and food.

Food will hopefully be easy. Weeds and fauna can be harvested, and if lady luck is on my side, maybe my traps will produce results. If nothing else, I can eat the contents of my soup since the ingredients need to be cycled out.

Clothing will be difficult. I already have a small pelt on my feet. I could use Bones' hat for something, but I don't want to take that away from him. If I can get a few more pelts, I might be able to make a rough cloak or vest, maybe some pants. Really I'd settle for anything more than just frolicking around in my underwear.

Admittedly the underwear does seem to be of the highest quality. I must have paid a fortune for them in my former life. Easy to clean, odor-resistant, quick-drying, non-abrasive, and highly fashionable—

I'm finally giving my underwear a proper cleaning, even going so far as to remove them and let whatever unknown bacteria festering in my garment die out in the heat of the sun. While at it, I also take the time to clean my shoes.

—fabric. I continue to admire my underwear. It must have been woven from unicorns or some other rare mystically magic creature like a beaver.

Yeah, that sounds right.

Wait. No.

Not a beaver.

Weasels. More correct, a weasel-looking rat beast swimming towards my fish trap. The rodent intrudes on my thoughts, bringing me back to the world.

A long and proportionately slender body of a weasel with the head and tail of a rat, a tail long enough to induce shivers.

Wait a moment, did I just describe an athletically shaped beaver? No beavers don't have gross rat tails. This is definitely a weasel rat.

Instantly I turn towards the weasel rat, then head back to the closest shore. Even though I'm almost out of the water, the weasel, closely resembling a beaver, cuts through the water nearing my trap.

Reaching the shore, I grab a couple stones and throw them at the thief, now perched on the large rock at the top of my fish trap. Large rat teeth are gleaming right back at me.

The weasel rat dives into my trap just as my stones collide with the rock. A moment later, it emerges with a sizable fish in its mouth.

"My fish!" I shout at the rat, giving it a warning.

Ignoring my warning disguised as a statement, the weasel rat attempts to retreat the way it entered, fish still in its mouth. Unable to get a foothold on the rock, it falls back into the trap, giving me plenty of time to close the distance.

There is a moment of sheer panic as the weasel thrashes around in the trap, struggling to escape. Stubbornly, it refuses to let go of the fish, making its escape all the more difficult.

A part of me wishes to hide and not experience the subsequent events. Pinning the weasel rat down with a conveniently accessible forked stick made of pale gray bone, I keep it from escaping. Not wanting the creature to die an awful death by drowning, I summon a bone spear and quickly end its life.

Knife in hand, I begin processing both the fish and weasel rat. Even in death, the long slender tail still haunts me forcing more shivers through my body.

Processing the fish and weasel is made much easier with my bone knife. Now that I am channeling the pale energy in all three major channels, the blade I can summon holds a much sharper edge. This sharp edge makes quick work of this tedious process.

I have a sizable cleaned pelt, fresh meat, tendons I stripped from the weasel, and a collection of bones when I am done. I leave the rest of the guts and innards in my fish corral as bait. As an afterthought, I keep the weasel brain as well, placing it in a small bone pot of water.

Back at the entrance of my pit, I summon Bones. Instead of his white coloration, he is formed with pale gray bones, and even though I did not spend any more mana creating him, he looks thicker and more durable.

Most noticeably, his awkwardness in movement is gone. I haven't even tried to improve his form yet, and he is already looking better—evidence that my cultivation earlier is paying off.

Before he can run off on his own, completing his tasks, I instruct him to prepare the hide to be tanned. This process includes creating the tanning solution from the brain, removing fur from the hide, stretching the hide out, and drying out the tendons. Without hesitation, he gets to work on his tasks.

Hide tasks being taken care of, I start preparing my fish and weasel. For both of them, I summon a rack made up of bones. Thin strips of weasel and fish meat are cut and placed on the stand, which is positioned in the smokiest place of the fire. Ideally, I will be able to preserve this meat to have a backup for when I'm not so fortunate with my accidental and purposeful trapping.

Since I am already working on food, I take the time to finish creating my seasonings. Dried diced wild onion bulbs are placed on my bowlish rock Bones retrieved from Lower Forest Camp. I use a smaller round rock to mash the onion into a powder. When I am satisfied with the consistency, I summon a container to hold the powder. Following this process, I do the same for the oxalis and pine mix.

Removed by Bones late in the night, the pot that once held diced hickory roots has boiled down. The only remains in the pot is a black gritty residue.

I now have the one seasoning above all other seasonings. Salt! I collect all the black salt, careful not to drop any of it, and place it in an extra durable container.

Finished with my seasoning, I put the last touches on my smoking meats by applying onion powder and salt to the weasel and salt and acidic seasoning to the fish. Then I help myself to all the remaining chunks left in my soup, leaving the broth to flavor a new batch of meats and forest goods.

While I eat, I watch as Bones finishes his given tasks. Impressively he followed all of the instructions I had given him, even taking an extra step by applying the tanning solution to the stretched-out weasel rat hide.

The hide is too small for clothing, so I think I will use it for my next iteration of shoes. The shoes I have now work but could be better. Specifically, it was foolish not to remove the fur from the rabbit pelt before turning it into a shoe.

Having just worked on the hickory roots, hickory trees are still fresh in my mind. "Good work, Bones." I break the eerie silence between us. Most of my commands have been given mentally, and by most, I mean the only commands I recently gave him.

"Do you mind looking for some hickory logs this thick," I create a ten-inch circle with my hands, "and six feet in length." Again I use my hands as a measurement, raising my hands a few inches above my head.

In response, Bones nods his head.

I question whether he understands the task because he doesn't leave immediately. He is just standing there. Moments crawl in silence.

Finally, Bones motions like he is swinging something, and I realize the hold-up. Delaying no further, I summon the finest wood processing tools he could find in all of the forests for Bones. I am sure of it. He nods his approval and takes off into the forest towards the amplest grouping of hickory trees.

Exploring the south side of the pond is my next task. However, before I leave to walk through the forest looking for food sources, I stop at the pond and pick up my now clean, dry underwear and shoes. Having experienced the thrill of running in the wild naked, I now know for a fact that life isn't for me.

Images of taking a weasel swipe to the scrotum still give me the willies.

Nope. Hanging loose isn't for me. I'm not like the wild bunch, just letting it hang out for all to see. Sure they might have the best ventilation. Sure they are bursting with unfaltering confidence that carries them through life. They can keep their ventilation and confidence for themselves. That is not a life for me.

Secure and safe is my preference, and that is a cause I'd go hungry for. Yup. Safe and secure. That's my motto.

I look for unexplored forest with briefs and shoes equipped and head in that direction.