Day Forty-Nine: Exploring the Unknown (Part One)

Early in the morning, sunlight pierced through the cracks in the treehouse, waking me from my slumber. I rubbed my eyes, stretched lazily, and made a quick decision.

"Well, since the weather is so nice today, I should go out and take a look around."

After a simple wash, I stepped into the yard. That rascal Blackie was at it again, dashing about in pursuit of butterflies and who knows what else.

Two little wild boars lay at the entrance of their shelter, basking in the sun. The ground near the pen was still quite damp, but the shelter itself had withstood the fierce storm without collapsing.

After feeding the piglets some fruit and fresh grass, I went to check the vegetable patch. Though the protective fishing net had been lifted at one corner by the gale, I felt a wave of relief as I removed the entire net. The seedlings had all survived—they seemed even sturdier than before. The potato sprouts, the seedlings from the drift-bottle seeds, and the green shoots of garlic all filled me with hope.

None of the young plants had been damaged or uprooted by the downpour, but they were now soaking in pooled water. I needed to drain it quickly, or I feared they would drown.

Draining the water was simple enough. I dug through the softened earth with my fingers, clearing away the mud and leaves that blocked the drainage channels. Water soon flowed out through the ditches, and my task was complete, my heart finally at ease.

Next came preparations for my journey. I took the smoked meat, sausages, and snakeskin—things I’d been drying in the treehouse—and spread them out in the sunlight.

Armed with a knife, an axe, and a spear, I fastened the knife and spear into my vine belt and carried the axe in my hand for clearing away troublesome branches.

Blackie, hearing my call, was reluctant to come—lately, he seemed to delight in teasing butterflies—but after repeated summons, he finally ran over.

At last, we set out. Though the sun was bright, yesterday’s storm had left the path treacherous. Before long, both Blackie and I were covered in mud; the black dog had become a muddy cur.

He shook himself vigorously, trying to rid his fur of the clinging wet earth, but to no avail—the mud stuck to him like a parasite.

Perhaps annoyed, Blackie abandoned his usual lively antics and followed closely behind me, uncharacteristically subdued.

The forest was vast and dense, forcing me to swing my axe again and again, hacking a path through the tangled vegetation.

Just then, I discovered an intriguing plant. The tree stood over five meters tall—its trunk resembled a palm, with leaves neatly arranged on either side. Altogether, the leaves spread like a peacock’s tail. These trees were not uncommon in the jungle—I’d seen them many times—but I had never uncovered their secret until now.

While hacking at a vine, I swung too hard and buried the axe in the trunk of one such tree. When I pulled the axe free, I was astonished to see clear liquid gushing from the wound.

Surprised, I dipped my finger into the fluid, rubbed it between my fingers. It wasn’t sticky at all.

It seemed like pure water! I touched my finger to my tongue—there was no strange taste, only the fresh hint of greenery.

Delighted, I scooped up a handful and drank. Indeed, this plant must store water in its trunk. I’d known that some desert plants could retain water, but never realized that on this humid, tropical island, such water-storing plants existed too.

This was a useful discovery. If I ever found myself short of water, I could seek out this tree.

As I ventured deeper into the woods, the light dwindled. The dense foliage intertwined overhead, leaves interlocking like teeth, blocking the sunlight beyond the canopy.

Birds, startled by my approach, screeched and took flight; small creatures scurried through the undergrowth, their rustling betraying their flight from this unexpected intruder who had disturbed the forest’s peace.

Surrounded by these strange sounds, I felt uneasy—nervous, even afraid. Since the wild boar incident, I’d become far more cautious, watching every step, constantly scanning my surroundings.

Blackie, too, moved alertly, ears pricked, glancing toward every sound.

Fortunately, nothing particularly dangerous happened—though I say this only because, just a moment ago, we encountered a snake, likely venomous. Its head was triangular, its tail slender—its sudden appearance made my heart leap.

Blackie barked fiercely, trying to scare it off. At first, the snake didn’t react, but after a few moments of Blackie’s barking, it turned toward us, flicking its long tongue.

Blackie wanted to charge, but I stopped him. I dared not imagine the consequences of a venomous bite. I raised my axe, but unless forced, I had no intention of attacking first. Entering the snake’s range could mean being struck by venom before I could land a blow.

At length, after a tense standoff, the snake seemed to lose interest and slithered away.

Relief washed over me as the strain in the air melted with the snake’s departure, and I exhaled deeply.

The forest was teeming with flowers and plants, and wild berries abounded. I avoided the especially bright, oddly shaped ones, tasting only a few that seemed safe—but none were pleasant. My mouth was overwhelmed by all manner of unpleasant flavors: some so sour they brought tears to my eyes, some so bitter I wanted to retch, some fragrant but astringent, and others I could hardly describe.

I resolved never to try another wild fruit again.

Not far ahead, a tree caught my attention—its branches were laden with fruit I recognized. Eager, I quickened my pace, clearing a path more swiftly.

Passing another water-storing tree, I paused to cut its trunk and drank deeply of the clear liquid, washing away the unpleasant tastes lingering in my mouth.

After pressing on for a while, I finally reached the great tree I had glimpsed earlier through the dense forest.

My heart pounded with excitement. It was truly the one! It really was!