Chapter Text
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A woman with no name, no memories, no anything, wakes up in a new world.
She has nothing but plain, lifeless clothes on her back. The dirt underneath her bare feet is cool and soft. She doesn’t know where she is.
She breathes in the morning.
Around her is a mountainside. The skies are filled with puffy, mathematically perfect wisps of clouds. She takes a moment to stare out to the horizon in every direction, looking for something, for anything. Is there anyone else there? Any sign of life?
No.
She picks her way carefully down the rocks.
At the bottom of the mountain is a field with forests on either side of it. They hiss at her, with dark things moving in the edge of her vision, but none of that exists quite yet as the sun is still rising in the sky and the light stands guard to protect her. The grass is green. The trees sway in the breeze.
A pack of sheep graze not far away from her. She walks over to them. They barely notice the incoming human. A baby skitters around underneath the adult’s legs, and it stops in front of her to stare up at her with its big, dumb eyes. She smiles softly at it. It baas.
She hums a tune to herself and imagines a sad yet sweet piano accompanying her voice. Why is she here? She wanders over to a lone tree in the middle of the field, and her smile widens as the little lamb follows her diligently, separating from the herd. None of the other sheep notice its absence.
She picks up a few sticks. She should at least try and find something to work with, right? Is that what she’s meant to do?
Tearing off the bark on the tree is strange, but also not. It sounds like something people should do. Trees have wood. We need wood to burn. To build. To bloom. It also came with a few bonus apples that she delights in the taste of.
A bit of fiddling, and she has some sort of half-standing table in front of her. It’s a little pathetic, but it allows her to properly set out the things she has and figure out what to do with them. The sticks and the cruddy planks of wood she’d pulled from the tree could be crafted into a makeshift… something. A tool of some sort, she hopes.
She lines them up and binds them together with some smaller vines she’d found on the tree.
She holds up the thing she’d made to the little lamb. “What do you think?” She asks it. It looks at the tool for a second, then at her, then went baa and put its head back down to eat grass. She smiles. “A pickaxe! Yeah! I thought so too!”
In reality, it looks as much like a pickaxe as it does a sword, or a wooden hammer. But it would have to do.
She turns to the ground and digs.