I need to choose my next goal for the journey; there’s nothing interesting here, and it doesn’t make sense to stay, with sunset still far away. I decided to walk along the boundary of two forests. At least I won’t be walking in circles. I boldly ventured deeper into the forest, counting my steps. The thought of the animals living here unsettled me, and I wondered what I would do if I suddenly encountered a large moose on my path. So far, I’ve only seen a few moose from a safe distance, but I know how big and dangerous they can be. If there are more such animals here, I must prepare a defense plan, just in case.

I looked around for something useful. After a while, I saw a young tree that was almost perfectly straight, with a trunk about three centimeters thick and nearly two meters tall. The top of the tree was broken or bitten off by animals when the tree was still young. It had a dozen small branches with leaves shaped like little hearts. I tried to kick the tree hard to break it, but to my surprise, the tree fell over, revealing its tiny roots. I used my knife to cut off all the branches and root ends and continued on my way. As I walked, I tried to sharpen one end of my new stick, and carve something out of the remnants of the root on the other end. Busy with work on my new tool, I walked slowly along the boundary of the two forests. I felt proud that I had managed to produce something, almost as if I had just built a diamond shovel in Minecraft. In reality, such seemingly trivial tasks required time and skill but also provided more satisfaction.

"Plus two crafting points" I said to myself, and after critically examining the stick, I assessed "plus ten points to white weapon attack". My new travel companion - a stick - a weapon, tool, and support. I felt a childlike joy of possessing a stick, now I can be invincible, wielding it like Jackie Chan or Jet Lee, and I am now one level safer than before. At least until reality verifies that.

I walked joyfully, swinging and twirling the stick. For the first time in a long while, I found myself able to enjoy such a trivial thing. So engrossed, I moved forward and only after a dozen steps did I notice that I had stepped onto a beaten path. The path was over a meter wide, covered with compacted dry mud. There were no animal hoof prints like those on the grassy plains, but old shoe prints could be seen. "I'm on a trail", I thought, "I'm saved." Briskly, I continued along the path in the same direction, southward. The sun had already crossed the path and was shining in my face, though now slightly from the right side. It was still warm. I took off my vest, hung it by the strap on the carved end of my new stick, placed the stick on my shoulder, and held the sharpened end with one hand. The shirt was breathable and drying, and the vest could also air out a bit. Several hours had passed since I woke up. I began to feel hungry and started looking around for something edible. I might have to hunt something, kill it, and prepare it. I had never done this before, and just the thought of killing an animal made me feel queasy. I had taken a hunting course and had a hunting license, but I did it only to get a gun permit and shoot at the shooting range. I couldn’t imagine myself standing over a freshly killed prey intending to gut it.

Luckily, I found bushes along the trail with fruits that looked like large orange raspberries. I saw birds eating them, so there was a high probability they weren't poisonous, and I could try them myself. The fruits were more fleshy than raspberries and seemed as if they had no juice at all, just semi-dry pulp. They had a slightly sour taste, a bit like unripe gooseberries and a hint of grapes. I ate a few handfuls of these fruits and gathered about twice as much into my travel bag for later. Who knows what lies ahead and whether I will find anything else to eat in the near future.

The meeting occurred after a good few thousand steps. He came out of the forest onto the trail a few meters ahead of me. A little boy, at first glance about six years old, a bit younger and shorter than my son. He had raven black, unevenly cut hair. His skin was a bit darker than mine and he had small, slightly slanted eyes. He was dressed in pants made of a material similar to mine, but his pants were shorter and showed clear signs of heavy use. An oversized shirt hung on him as on a scarecrow. He wore leather shoes below the ankle, wrapped around with straps in the middle of the foot. On his back, he carried a large, elongated basket, slung over one thick strap diagonally across his chest. The basket contained a lot of thin and perfectly straight sticks about a meter long. The basket with its contents was almost bigger than he was, but it apparently didn't weigh much because the boy carried it easily and without hunching. I also noticed that he had a large axe attached to his belt, with a handle reaching below his knees. I was surprised by such a sight. Reflexively, I wanted to reach for my smartphone to take a picture or video, to share it in the chat on the family group to show my children how hardworking and resourceful other kids are. But my plan ended only with the realization of how foolish I am.

I continued walking at the same pace when the boy completely exited the forest onto the path. I thought he would see me in a moment and then start running away or defend himself with the axe. However, he slightly turned in my direction, leaned his head forward about fifteen centimeters, and clearly and loudly said: "Be well!" Then he turned and began walking on the trail ahead of me in the same direction as I was.

Thoughts swirled in my head. I understood well what he said, but I couldn't identify what language it was, despite knowing a few and being able to communicate well in at least four. I had more and more unanswered questions. I decided to speed up to catch up with him and try to talk.