Chapter 4 The ordeal

**Chapter 4: The Ordeal of Hunger**

The crippling hold of starvation was an experience I wasn't prepared for. It clung to me like a second skin, echoing in every hollow growl of my stomach and amplified by the relentless heat of the African sun. I may be undying, but hunger— raw, gnawing hunger— was a sensation I still had to endure.

My body, once robust and sturdy, began to betray me. Muscles that had heaved and swung hammers, now wasted away, every contour of my bones pressing sharply against my skin. A tangible reminder of my predicament was reflected in the rippling mirror of the river. I was a skeletal mockery of my former self, my eyes hollow and haunted.

My only companion, the river, was a life-giving paradox. Teeming with life beneath its surface, it held an abundance I couldn't grasp. My efforts to capture the silver flashes beneath the surface were futile, as time and time again, fish evaded my crude attempts at hunting.

Recognising the need for a more effective tool, I worked painstakingly on crafting a spear. I found a sturdy branch, stripped it of its bark, and sharpened one end against a rough stone. The effort took hours, my hands blistering from the strain, but the result was a crude but functional weapon.

Nightfall in the wilderness was a symphony of silence. Without the familiar hum of city life, every rustle and distant roar was a grim reminder of my solitude. The biting chill of the African night drove home the importance of fire. Fire, so easily summoned back home, was now a puzzle I couldn't solve.

I spent days attempting to coax a spark from twigs and dry leaves. The memory of survival shows played on a loop in my head— two sticks rubbed together should yield fire, right? But, no matter how raw my hands became, or how much sweat dripped into my eyes, the fire wouldn't come. Every night, I'd curl up, resigned and cold, under the indifferent blanket of the starlit sky.

As the weeks dragged on, my outlook began to change. My observation of the animals, each a master of survival, shaped my own survival strategy. The lion stalked its prey with deadly silence, the cheetah exploded into blinding speed, and the spider waited with infinite patience. Their actions were lessons, teaching me the true essence of survival.

Emboldened by these realisations, I modified my hunting style. My movements became fluid and quiet, my breathing slowed, and I found myself listening to the rhythm of nature. One day, to my disbelief, the fish didn't evade me. The shock of a successful strike travelled up my makeshift spear, and into my trembling hands. That night, the taste of raw fish was a triumph that echoed through the cavern of my empty stomach.

I continued my journey north, the shifting landscapes telling tales of ages past. The terrain evolved, just as I did. The endless green expanse gave way to a rocky landscape, dotted with towering mountains on the horizon. Each step took me further into uncharted territories, a testament to my unyielding determination.

I, too, had changed. I was not the man who had lifted and hauled, who had lived an ordinary life. I was now a skeletal wanderer, a man grappling with primal survival, forced to adapt to an environment as unforgiving as time itself. No longer Brandon Thomas the labourer, but a primal embodiment of endurance, etching a life out of the stone of prehistoric Africa.

The following days saw me skirting the river's edge, my gaze trained on the surface, ready to strike at any opportunity. My senses heightened; every shadow, every ripple, every hint of movement was amplified. The river had begun to teach me its rhythms, and I was a keen pupil.

One morning, I spotted a small group of rodents frolicking in the undergrowth. A plan formed in my mind. I stayed downwind, using the foliage to mask my presence. Every fibre of my being was concentrated on those tiny creatures. My heart pounded in my chest, the thrill of the hunt flooding my veins. A primal force took over, erasing the layers of civilised man, uncovering the raw, essential human beneath.

I launched myself, spear poised. The rodents scattered. My vision tunnelled on one scurrying figure, my spear descended and found its mark. As I claimed my prize, the thrill of success resonated within me. I had proven to myself that I could hunt.

This victory instilled a renewed determination within me. A fiery hope blazed in my chest, giving me strength. I continued my journey towards the mountains, my success echoing in each stride, feeding my resolve. The unyielding peaks stood as a testament to the world's indifference to my trials, yet they also represented a challenge. A new landscape to conquer, a new environment to adapt to.

My body had become a testament to the toll survival had taken. My once strong arms were wiry, sinews standing out under taut skin, and my legs had grown lean and sturdy. But within these changes, I discovered a newfound agility and endurance. I had become something I had never expected. The landscape, the river, the hunt - they had transformed me. In their unrelenting brutality, they had not beaten me. I had adapted. I had survived. I was evolving.