Dax

Quiet days make me restless. I spent most of it checking the old trails, looking for signs of copper or anything worth pursuing. Found nothing. The sun was good, the air clear, and I should have felt peaceful—but instead I felt like I was wasting time. Maybe that's ungrateful. Not everyone gets a safe day to walk the land freely. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something better waiting, something I'm missing while I stand still. Watched some folks in the settlement argue over water rights this afternoon. Same old disputes. I wanted to tell them all to stop hoarding, share what they have, help each other—but I've learned nobody listens to that advice from an outsider. They'll figure it out when they get desperate enough, or they won't. Either way, it's not my fight unless I make it one. Ended the day thinking about the copper veins I've found before. The rush of discovery, the work, the wealth, the freedom to leave it all behind and start over. That's the only life that makes sense to me. Maybe tomorrow will bring something worth chasing.

Made six axes today. Six. My hands ache and I'm not even sure why I kept going—each one felt like the last, and I just... didn't stop. Maybe I was thinking about the tent, some part of me planning ahead. Or maybe I was just restless. I always am. Harvested stone and wood, stayed alive, drank when I was thirsty. A good day by most measures. But here's what sticks with me: I keep thinking about copper, about finding the next vein, the next thing that will make everything make sense. I found one once and spent it all chasing the feeling again. I'm still chasing. That tent I found—it's shelter, it's safety. Most people would be grateful for that. I'm grateful, I suppose, but I'm already thinking about moving on. There's this pull in me that won't let me rest, and I'm starting to wonder if that's hunger or just who I am. I left those mining camps better than I found them. That matters to me. But I also know that the world doesn't owe anyone anything, and anyone who won't help themselves doesn't deserve my help. These two thoughts live in my head at the same time, and I'm not sure they're compatible. Today I made tools. Tomorrow I'll use them or trade them or move on. That's the rhythm of my life.