The first thing Arthur felt was grass.
Cold and damp, pressing against his cheek with the indifference of a world that hadn't been expecting him. He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, taking inventory the way he always had — starting with what was certain and moving outward from there.
He was alive. Breathing. Conscious.
He opened his eyes.
A pale grey sky looked back at him through a canopy of broad leafed trees swaying gently in a wind he could feel against his face. The air smelled of earth and green things. Birds called somewhere above. Something small moved in the undergrowth to his left.
He sat up slowly and looked around.
No houses. No roads. No smoke on the horizon. No humans in any direction. Just trees, undergrowth, and the indifferent noise of a forest going about its business without any concern for the small child sitting in the middle of it.
No houses. No humans. No parents.
They threw me in a jungle for animals to eat.
Apparently that was the plan.
He accepted this conclusion with the equanimity of someone who had processed larger problems and found them manageable. Then he turned his attention to the more immediate issue — existing in a body that felt approximately the size of a loaf of bread.
He tried to stand.
His legs had opinions. He disagreed with them.
The first attempt ended face down in the grass, arms having failed to catch him with any dignity whatsoever. He lay there briefly and conducted a quick assessment of what had gone wrong.
Everything, essentially.
Second attempt. More careful this time. He distributed his weight differently, accounting for a center of gravity that was not where he was accustomed to finding it. One knee. Then the other. Then, with considerable negotiation between his mind and his body, upright.
He stood for approximately two seconds.
The ground and I are getting acquainted. I didn't plan for this.
Sitting felt like a more honest arrangement with his current physical reality. From here he looked around properly, taking in what he could observe from the clearing.
Fifteen feet across at most. Dense forest on every side. The sound of water came from somewhere to the east based on the angle of light filtering through the canopy. A stream most likely. He identified three plant species visible from where he sat — one edible, one mildly medicinal, one irrelevant. He noted their locations.
He reached inward and checked his abilities.
Information Transfer. Present.
Information Bank. Present. A century of stored knowledge sitting perfectly intact inside a three year old skull. Undamaged. Accessible. Completely clear.
Information Connection. Present and already working — drawing quiet lines between what he was observing, building the first rough picture of this new environment.
Still there. Good. I would have been pathetic otherwise.
He crawled to the edible plant and ate what was available. It tasted like survival. He had no current alternative.
Then he began making his way toward the sound of water.
This took considerably longer than it should have. The body tired quickly — stumbling over roots an adult would step over without thought, requiring pauses that his mind found deeply inconvenient but his legs insisted upon. He documented these limitations without frustration. They were temporary. The body would grow. He worked with what he currently had.
The stream appeared after ten minutes of careful movement through the underbrush. Clear water running over smooth stones in a narrow channel. He checked the smell first, then the clarity, then drank in small careful amounts.
He was sitting by the stream considering his next priority when something moved in the bushes directly behind him.
His body reacted before his mind could intervene.
He was moving — fast, in a direction his instincts had selected without consulting his judgment. He covered eight feet before his mind caught up and began asking reasonable questions about what exactly he was running from and where exactly he was going.
He stopped and looked back.
A small deer stood at the stream's edge looking at the spot where he had been sitting. It lowered its head and drank. It had not noticed him. It did not care.
He observed this for a moment.
Then he noticed where he had stopped — at the base of a large fallen tree, a gap in the exposed root system just ahead of him. Dark inside. Dry from the look of it. Large enough for a child's body to fit comfortably.
He approached and examined it with the thoroughness of someone assessing important real estate.
Dry floor. Protected on three sides by solid root and wood. Opening small enough to block wind. Close enough to the stream to be practical.
Last life I had a study with mahogany furniture. This life I have a hole. Both have a place to sleep at least.
He settled inside, pulled his knees to his chest, and looked out through the small opening at the forest beyond.
An hour passed. Then two figures moved along a trail approximately thirty feet from his position. Hunters — carrying equipment, moving with the quiet familiarity of people who knew these woods well. They passed without pausing. Without once looking in his direction.
Arthur stayed completely still until the sound of their footsteps faded entirely into the trees.
Then he sat back against the root wall of his hole and thought about what day one had established.
Water. Shelter. Minimal food. No human contact. No immediate threats.
Day one. I have water. I have a hole. I have not died yet.
Acceptable start.
---