Grub did not rush into the next step. The discovery of the settlement had lit a fire inside his mind that refused to die down, but excitement alone would get him killed if he acted too quickly. The soldiers he had seen in the clearing were disciplined and organized. Their patrol routes were maintained. Their paths were marked. Even the one he had followed had erased signs of its camp the previous night.

  Creatures like that would notice a careless stranger immediately.

  So Grub slowed himself down.

  If he was going to stay here for a while—and he suspected he would—then the first thing he needed was something more reliable than a temporary hiding place. He needed a true camp he could call home even just for a little.

  He crouched beside a large fallen trunk and opened his journal again. The paper rustled softly as he flipped through the pages, scanning old notes he had written days ago back near the ridge. The sketches were rough, but the information was still clear and visible. He had marked several things: certain plants that were safe, animals that weren’t deadly on consumption. Some medicinal herbs and wood that burned nicely were all written in his notebook.

  He tapped the edge of the page thoughtfully with a finger before closing the journal again and standing.

  The forest around him had begun to warm as the sun climbed higher above the canopy. Shafts of light filtered through the leaves, illuminating drifting dust and moisture between the trees. Somewhere far off in the distance he could still hear the faint sounds of the lizard settlement—metal striking metal, voices carrying across the clearing, the constant movement of a place that never seemed to truly stop.

  Grub ignored it for the moment. First things first.

  He began collecting materials. Grub decided to grab himself some dry branches first. He searched carefully along the forest floor, selecting only wood that had already fallen and dried instead of snapping fresh branches from living trees. Fresh wood cracked too loudly when broken. Dead wood could be lifted quietly with a little patience.

  He carried the branches one by one to a shallow hollow tucked between several trees where the ground dipped slightly beneath thick roots. The location had taken him nearly half an hour to find.

  From the outside, the hollow looked like nothing more than tangled brush and exposed roots climbing out of the soil. The trees around it grew close together, their trunks casting heavy shadows across the ground even during midday. But from the inside, if you positioned yourself correctly, there were narrow gaps between the leaves that allowed a distant view toward the outer edge of the lizard camp. It was the perfect spot. Close enough to watch. Far enough to stay hidden.

  Grub dropped the first bundle of sticks into the hollow and studied the space for a moment before beginning his work.

  He started with the frame. Longer branches leaned against the thicker roots, forming angled supports that slanted inward like the ribs of a crude shelter. Smaller sticks were woven between them to hold the structure together. It took time, and more than once he had to pause to adjust the angles so the branches rested naturally instead of forming straight unnatural lines. Straight lines stood out in forests. After all, nature rarely built things perfectly.

  Once the skeleton of the hut stood in place, he moved on to camouflage.

  Leaves were layered across the outer frame first. Moss followed after that, pressed gently into the cracks between branches to soften the structure’s outline. Loose bark, bits of fallen vines, and small clusters of dead grass were added last.

  When he finally stepped back to examine the result, the structure had nearly vanished. From only a few steps away it looked like a collapsed pile of forest debris. Exactly what he wanted.

  Grub crouched beside the entrance and opened his journal again.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  The page with the safe plants came quickly this time. Several of the leaves he had marked earlier on the ridge appeared here as well, though the soil and shade of the deeper forest had altered their growth slightly.

  He moved quietly between the trees collecting them. Broad leaves were layered inside the hut first to create insulation from the damp soil. Over those he spread softer moss gathered from shaded rocks nearby. Finally he took several long fibrous roots and began twisting them together carefully, knotting them into a crude woven mesh.

  The work took longer than expected. His fingers moved slowly as he tied the roots together, tightening each knot so the mesh would hold weight without snapping. Once it was finished he placed it across two low branches inside the hut, raising the bedding slightly above the ground. The result was simple but effective. A bed.

  Not comfortable by any civilized standard, but better than sleeping directly on the cold earth. Grub leaned back slightly on his heels and studied the small shelter with quiet satisfaction. For someone who had fallen into this world with nothing but the clothes on his back and stubbornness, it wasn’t bad at all. While he worked, the sounds from the distant camp drifted through the trees again.

  Voices carried faintly on the wind. The strange language rose and fell in sharp bursts of sound that he still could not decipher. Every now and then a louder command echoed across the clearing, followed by the clatter of weapons or the synchronized movement of soldiers training.

  Grub paused in his work and climbed a short incline beside the hollow. From there he could see part of the settlement again through the narrow break between trees. Dozens of lizards moved through the outer sections of the camp. Some carried equipment between rows of tents. Others stood in loose formations practicing with their weapons while a larger armored figure barked orders in the same rough language he had been hearing all day.

  He watched them carefully. Studying how they fight would be as useful to him as studying how they talked. But he did study how their language extensively

  The way they greeted one another. The gestures they used while speaking. The patterns of sound in their language. He tried repeating some of the sounds quietly under his breath before writing rough approximations of them in his journal.

  The symbols were crude, but they would help him remember. This language was a puzzle. One that Grub was planning to put together as soon as he could.

  He returned to his camp after a while and sat beneath the shelter again, flipping to a fresh page in the journal.

  This time he wrote a short list.

  Find a reliable water source.

  Observe patrol patterns.

  Record common words.

  Avoid detection.

  He stared at the first line for a moment longer than the others. Water would become a problem sooner or later. The stream he had passed earlier might still work, but if the soldiers used it as well then it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed unfamiliar tracks along its banks.

  Better to find another source. Somewhere deeper in the forest. He underlined the note once before closing the journal again. The afternoon passed slowly after that.

  Grub gathered a few more materials for the shelter, stacking small pieces of firewood beneath the hut in case he needed heat during colder nights. The wood came from a tree species he had recognized near the ridge earlier—dense, slow-burning wood that produced little smoke when dried properly.

  He stacked the pieces carefully, making sure none of them were visible from outside the hollow. By the time the sun began drifting toward the horizon, his small camp had grown into something almost comfortable.

  A hidden shelter. With a bed and warmth. And a clear vantage point toward the settlement.

  Grub climbed the nearby tree again as evening settled over the forest.

  The branch he chose stretched outward toward the camp while remaining partially hidden behind the trunk. He sat there quietly, one arm hooked around the bark for balance as he watched the lizards moving through the fading light.

  Their lives continued without pause.

  Some gathered near small fires. Others continued training even as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Groups of soldiers spoke together in clusters, their voices rising and falling with tones that carried hints of humor, frustration, or command. They did not behave like monsters. They were people.

  Grub sat there for a long time, writing occasional notes in his journal while the camp gradually shifted into its nighttime rhythm. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a strange thought slowly surfaced.

  The way he watched them. The way he recorded their behavior from hidden branches. The way he studied their speech and routines without their knowledge. It felt oddly familiar. Uncomfortable, even.

  Grub leaned back against the trunk and stared down toward the camp below and suddenly felt an unmistakable realization settle in the back of his mind.

  He felt less like an explorer

  And more like a stalker.