Camping Is Tough Without Matches

    Several hours later, as the light streaming through the trees began to dim, Sean decided to camp for the night. While the wildlife he’d seen so far hadn’t been very threatening, especially the herd of dog-sized red deer that had moved alongside him for a little while, he didn’t want to chance wandering the woods in the dark.

    Luckily he’d seen several hunting blinds so far and another appeared to be ahead, woven from branches into the brush just a little off the path. Pulling the large piece of bark that served as a door aside, he poked his head into the blind.

    Inside there was a small fire pit, as well as a tree stump that could serve as a simple stool. A patch of bare earth would serve him as a bed, though he wished his goddess-given attire had come with a cloak. Hopefully the nights in whatever season this was didn’t get too cold.

    Sean dipped outside and began to gather what he thought would make good fuel for a small fire. Some dry moss, small branches, and a piece or two of a bark that looked similar to birch would serve well enough for tinder, while a few larger pieces of mostly dried out deadwood would have to do for the actual fuel.

    He carried these implements of fire making back to the blind feeling quite proud of himself. It seemed he still remembered a few of the lessons he learned from his boyhood survival novels, and the pièce de résistance was still to come. Laying his tinder into the pit and dutifully stacking the deadwood in a neat pile, Sean pulled out his hatchet and picked up one of the stones ringing the fire pit.

    With a clang, he brought the back of the hatchet down on the stone, willing the campfire into existence.

    Nothing happened.

    Nodding to himself that, obviously, that hadn’t been the right kind of stone to try this method, Sean dropped the stone and picked another up. This one felt right in a way the last hadn’t, and made a very satisfying crack as Sean’s hatchet-back split it down the center.

    Which, of course, had no effect on the kindling taunting him from the pit.

    Sean admonished himself for being so clumsy, picking a third stone up. This one was also white and had a pleasant weight and solidity to it, assuring Sean of its viability as The Stone. With a measured and accurate strike, Sean hit The Stone at an angle severe enough to make solid contact, but shallow enough not to break the stone. Triumphantly, knowing that he’d done it just like in the movies, Sean looked up to take in his victory.

    No fire greeted him, no merry dancing of flame. All that met his gaze was the cold, mocking gaze of wood unburnt.

    The fire-making materials flew out of the blind and into the brush, followed closely by The Treason Stone. Sean pulled out his bag of nuts, resigning himself to a cold night in the dark. In the trees above him a bird cackled, heckling him in the waning dusk.

    The rest of the nuts, and a good dose of self-pity later, Sean was lying on the cold earth trying to fall asleep when he heard a noise right outside of the blind. He tensed, listening for where it might be coming from, and felt around for his hatchet. Finding the handle close to the fire pit, he sat up and waited.

    The soft rustle of fur on leaves hissed, cutting through the other night noises with its proximity. It seemed to move from one side of the blind to the other, approaching the bark doorway. Sean tensed, a cold weight settling into his gut as he realized that if whatever was out there wanted to eat him it probably could – hatchet or no hatchet.

    The movement reached the bark and stopped. Sean heard the creature snuffling around the base of the door. He held his breath as it started to paw at the edge of it, trying to lever it open.

    Sean couldn’t take it anymore. His nerves were wound tight as he sprung into action, charging at the door with a yell. Nearly tripping in the fire pit, he burst through the door and out into the moonlight streaming down onto the path, swinging his hatchet wildly. Night birds flew from their roosts in alarm, squawking angrily at him, as something brushed against his legs and fled.

    Sean looked left and right, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had been about to invade the blind, but saw nothing. The moonlight was just enough for him to see the shapes of his surroundings, but was insufficient to make a proper search. With a ragged breath he turned and stumbled back into the blind, his feet crunching through the scattered fragments of the door

    He sat heavily on the stump stool and did his best to calm down. His hands started to shake as the adrenaline rush subsided, leaving him weak in the knees. He carefully placed the hatchet back on his belt where he could find it easily and went to curl up on the sleeping patch once more. The cool ground, combined with the nights chill, left him feeling sluggish.

    And so it was with mild concern that he noticed something stir in the previously empty fire pit. A flame-like tail, dark against the moonlit doorway, flicked back and forth as the shape rose and padded towards him. The silhouette of a large fox crept up, drawing close as it sniffed wetly at the empty pouch to Sean’s side. Determining that the animal was no real danger to him he slowly reached for the pouch, careful not to startle the fox, and opened it so the animal could see inside.

    The fox’s muzzle darted inside. Sean could feel its tongue licking out to lap at the bottom of the bag looking for crumbs. Finding nothing the animal let out a plaintive whine and withdrew, flopping down at Seans side and curling its tail around itself.

    Not one to look a gift fox in the mouth, Sean thanked it quietly for the donated warmth and closed his eyes. Hopefully he would find a village tomorrow, he would just have to see.