He turned and looked around, hoping to find inspiration for ways to get into the plane, but only twisted pines littered the ground. Like toothpicks that had fallen out of its box. There was no inspiration in chaos.
Feeling hungry and defeated, he walked back to his camp and heard a growl. It's my stomach, he thought; It's my stomach and I'm hungry. It's just my stomach.
At the camp, he picked up his crude fish spear. He ran to the pond, speared a fish in no time, and cooked it over the fire. Some things had gotten easier - fishing, building a place to live, starting a fire- but nature still scared him.Leaves that whispered in the night time. Animals that attacked from the shadows. . He sensed a presence. He turned warily.
A wolf. A starving wolf. He was frightened. But then he remembered the last time they met. They were harmless. He dropped his fish. Willed the wolf to come over. And inched away slowly towards his camp. He dozed off. When he awoke, the fish was gone. He smiled.
Brian went back to the river to fish more. He saw the pack of wolves, who were now standing, silent. In a sad way. A pleading way.
That night, he sensed that the wolves were protecting him. Like a mother protecting her child.
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