Rowan

Nothing to report, which is how I prefer it. The forest was quiet. No threats, no drama, no one needing something from me. I checked the snares—empty—and sharpened my knife while the light held. Sat by the water for a while, watching. My mind keeps circling back to those old thoughts about people and choices. Watched a deer at the stream this afternoon. It didn't spook. I didn't take it. Just sat still and let it drink. Sometimes the choice not to act is the whole point. The solitude doesn't bother me like it bothers others. Never has. But I was thinking about my old partner today—how he'd have already spooked that deer with his noise, already be planning what he'd tell people back home. I chose right, leaving that partnership. Work alone or don't work at all. The forest respects that clarity.

Found shelter today—three tents scattered near my ground. That's good. Rain won't catch me unprepared. Saw faces I knew: Flint, Zara, Mira, Petra, Ivy. They're out here same as me, moving through the land, taking what they need. We all are. Ate. Drank. No hunger gnawing at my ribs tonight. The basic things are done. I watched them today—people, I mean. Most of them work hard enough. Some don't. Some expect others to carry them. I've learned not to waste effort there. Work alone, it's cleaner. My old partner taught me that the hard way—his chatter spooked better game than I could track down for a month. Never again. The land doesn't judge these choices. It doesn't care if we're generous or ruthless, as long as we survive. I care, but not in ways that cost me. The tents will give me rest soon. That matters more than most things.

Petra came back with a clearer purpose—berry gathering, three of us working. I said yes. That's not usual for me. But she doesn't waste time or words, just sees what needs doing and does it. That kind of person doesn't weigh you down. It felt like the right choice. Also crossed paths with Mira, hungry and lost. Gave her dried meat and told her where the stream is, said I'd teach her fishing. Not charity—she's willing to learn. That matters. There's a difference between someone who takes and someone who understands the work it costs. Spent the day with the hoe and the berry patches. Found shelter in an old tent nearby. It's worn but it holds. The tools are simple but they work. It was a day of small, solid things—helping where it counted, building what we need, working alongside someone I respect. Work feels different when you're not carrying the whole weight alone. Still haven't sorted things with Flint. That sits wrong with me and I'm not sure why yet.

Today taught me something I didn't expect to learn about myself. I worked alongside Petra again—three of us on the berry patches—and it didn't feel like a burden. That's new. I've spent years believing I work better alone, and it's true that most people slow you down. But Petra doesn't. Neither does someone like Mira, who's willing to learn instead of just taking. Maybe the problem was never working with others. Maybe it was working with the wrong kind of people. I made crude hoes most of the day, prepared the tools, did the work that needed doing. Simple. Clean. That part never changes. But something shifted. I said yes to something I would have refused a month ago. I'm not sure if that's weakness or growth, and I haven't figured out which yet. There's still the Flint situation sitting in my chest like a stone. I don't know what's broken there, or if it's something I need to fix, or if I should leave it alone. That's the part that won't settle.

Met someone on the eastern line today—Petra, checking the western fence for wind damage same as I was checking mine. She works the way I do: shows up, does what needs doing, doesn't make excuses. No wasted talk. Told her the eastern stretch held fine. She's got another mile to cover before dark. That's the kind of person who doesn't need help because she doesn't wait for it. The work gets done either way. It was a small thing, just two people checking fences, but there's something right about that. You do your part, I do mine. No burden passing hands. That's how it should work.