"I'll need time, my love. It's… hard for me. I've never spoken about it out loud before."

I sighed, breath pluming in the air for a moment before dispersing. She was warm beside me, and though her lips were cold as they brushed my cheek, I felt warmer still, afterwards.

"I know," she said, patient as ever. "Thank you for sharing."

I swallowed the sarcastic snort I'd been about to make. It was an unworthy emotion for the moment. She noticed anyway, as always. I felt a hand rest on the back of my neck and she pulled me in for a kiss. We knocked our foreheads together after, and her nose was even colder than her lips.

February was always a chilly month up north, and the meagre sun hadn't yet had a chance to beat back the frost. The sniffling snorts of Moss sniffing around in the background, searching for every hint of squirrel and rabbit possible in the long brown grasses was an ever-present sound. We'd had long practice at tuning it out though, so it didn't undercut the moment for either of us.

"Me and you, against the world," she breathed, but the sniffing stopped before I could respond, and we both looked up to see his happy little doggy grin as he loped over to us.

He didn't slow down though, and we rolled aside as he came bounding over like a tiny fur-covered wrecking ball. I felt her smile next to me.

I did too.

I jerked back to the present, falling out of that still pool of memory and blinking rapidly. Context was lost immediately, but the feelings took longer to fade; The release as long-held anxiety was given up, found not to have the power it once did. Contentment and gratitude for the way things were. A deep melancholy and longing for something now ripped away.

That last emotion was recent, conjured in the time between losing the past and understanding the present. In that single lightning bolt second where my mind remembered where it now was but also what it had lost.

But even that complex feeling soon faded, and I was left with just a few solitary tears tracking their lonely way down my face, soon dashed away by the back of my hand and the bitter spring wind that rushed down from the mountains above.

I crouched in a hollow near the base of the cliff. The ridge rose above me, its unyielding embrace partly sheltering me from the savage wind swirling above. The dark stone absorbed the sun and warmed my back. I was biding my time, patient as a hawk awaiting my prey.

I'd fallen once again for the intoxicating call of the hazy waters of my past, but I pushed it aside with an effort of will. I never seemed to come back happier, but it was hard to stop. Like picking at a scab, I knew the likely outcome, but there was something addictive about it that kept me worrying at the same wound, returning to the same memories.

The pain was quickly stripped away by whatever force had stolen my memories from me, though. Perhaps that was part of it why it was so hard to stop. Being honest though, I didn't fall for that siren call while I was busy. No, I only dove back in for another dip in that pool of melancholy when I was feeling lost.

Like now. When I had the choice between joy and pain, wonder and regret, I didn't hesitate to focus on the moment. It was only when alone, waiting, unsure of my next move or otherwise at my weakest that I gave in to that bitter trip down memory lane.

As the last of the tears dried on my face, I made myself a commitment. I didn't voice it aloud, didn't declare it to the heavens, but I did promise myself. No more wallowing in the past. No more picking at that scab. I had a task and a purpose, and I would see them through before I wasted my new life on regret.

So saying, I returned to watching from my little ledge. The Mountain Oryx horn was lodged into a deep crack running down a large section of the rock below me. I was careful to keep my feet and centre of mass on my side of the crack, not willing to put any weight further out on the outcropping in front lest I ruin my own trap before the time was right.

It had taken a lot of careful inching down the cliff to make it this far without falling, but I'd made it now, and my plan was set. This was by no means the first large overhang I had inspected, but after hours of searching intently, looking for fault lines and focusing hard on my Simple Traps Skill, I had identified this ledge as incredibly weak – ready to fall at a moment's notice.

It was a wonder it had held on as long as it had, but then I supposed that rocks fell near constantly in the mountains and you'd have to be there in the right place at some point. Scrambling had even helped confirm my other skill's information, giving me a brief instinctual warning to not stand on the ledge before me.

I had debated trying to draw the attention of the wolves directly, but that seemed likely to backfire, making them wary in their approach. Instead, I'd decided I simply needed to be patient, to wait for them to skirt this section of ridgeline. I had seen them running back and forwards in pairs as I hiked ever onwards, and a small goat-track ran directly below this ledge, so I knew it was only a matter of time.

It wasn't until I was set up and waiting that I'd realised how tedious this was going to be. I only had a short view down the track before it curved out of site, so I would need to be ready. Success would be determined by timing, and I couldn't afford to waste this opportunity, as it wasn't likely to present itself again.

Keeping my mind on the task at hand and preventing my eyes from wandering around the beautiful view in front of me had been difficult, almost more than I could take. With the excitement of the last few hours, preventing myself from giving into the urge to relax and let my mind drift where it pleased was more of a strain than I'd expected. In many ways it was no surprise that I'd sort the comforting embrace of my memories.

Renewed by my vow though, I managed to stay focused for next hour, and so when the two long-necked wolves trotted around the corner on the track below, I didn't flinch or hesitate or miss them entirely. I had them in sight and waited with a patience I had never before possessed. A ringing in my head was pushed aside, and all my focus was on my Simple Traps Skill to feed me the perfect moment to act.

When it came, I threw as much weight against the horn propped into the crack as I could without completely overbalancing. I felt a brief eternity of resistance, the moment stretching out seemingly forever, and then it was over in a flash. I windmilled my arm, barely managing to keep my left hand gripping the handhold and watched in vain as my trusty horn tumbled to the ground below, alongside a hundred tonnes of rock and earth.

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The massive stone slab had fallen away so completely that the tips of my boots protruded over the edge of the now much thinner ledge I stood on. It had happened too fast for me to take in, but the outcome was obvious to anything with eyes and ears. A crescendo of grinding, crashing stone and a plume of dust rising into the air was all that could be sensed of the path below.

I waited, watching for a few moments as the massive boulder – for that is what the former ledge now was, completely disconnected from the cliff it had previously been a part of for untold millennia – rolled down the scree slope before resting at the bottom as it mellowed out. More ringing in my head had accompanied the initial crash of the ledge and I focused on the notifications long enough to confirm the death of the two wolves.

I descended the last few meters to the now mangled path on shaky legs. The several hours standing in one position waiting patiently had left my legs unusually unresponsive, and the adrenaline and hunger weren't helping me keep steady.

Once I made it to the ground, I moved over the churned grass and dirt as quickly as was safe, skirting larger sections of rock dislodged from the cliff by the slab's rapid descent. The crushed corpses of the two wolves, when I found them, were not a pretty sight. Blood flecked the rocks around them, and it looked as if the large slab had hit them dead on, flattening their hindquarters before screeching past further down the slope.

Slivers of bone marred the pulped flesh, and I decided against using any meat below the stomach. I had no desire to die coking on a bone shard after everything I'd done to get here. At least they looked to have died instantly. I drew my knife and set to collecting what I could from the corpses, harvesting only cuts of meat that weren't pulverised by falling rock.

I knew I was on a timer, and so focused on separating the large portions for ease of carrying. I wrapped them up in my cloak, deciding the blood and smell of raw meat was better than going hungry, and bound it together with my vine-belt.

Scarpering back up the slope, I threw my spoils onto the now much thinner ledge I had waited on for so long. I spent a few desperate moments casting about on the ground for any sign of my much-loved horn before finally catching a glimpse of it hiding in the freshly turned scree. A few unsuccessful attempts at throwing that onto the ledge passed before I just clamped my teeth around it and carried it in my mouth as I climbed. If it worked for pirates, it was good enough for me.

Once I reached the clifftop and found myself a nice, sheltered spot underneath a prominent lip, I unwrapped my spoils and set about seriously butchering a generous portion of meat. The first few days of eating unseasoned badly cooked meat had been difficult, but I was a better campfire cook now, and I no longer craved salt to the same degree. I'd not passed any rosemary or thyme or other useful herbs, but at least I could get the texture right.

There was little on hand to create a fire with – no kindling or wood of any kind up here. A few wisps of grass perhaps, but there wasn't enough for anything approaching a sustainable burn.

Knuckling down, I cut a small, very thin strip of meat before wrapping it around the fire-lighting rune stone. I focused on the pebble, willing it to activate, and felt the same trickle of something leave my body as when I focused on my Hill Foraging. It was almost unnoticeable, but I had spent long evenings playing around with the rune stone after eating while my mind refused to rest, and I was starting to build up a burgeoning sense for how this new magic – for clearly this was a magical world with everything I had seen – worked.

After my Meat Preparation Skill informed me that enough time had passed, I removed the sizzling slice of wolf meat and popped it into my mouth. I was getting better at judging it for myself based on the colour, texture and even smell, but the disembodied instincts granted by the Skill were still useful. Savouring the taste, I looked out over the valley below me and sighed.

Damn, I loved winning. There was something so ineffably satisfying about giving all you had towards a goal and watching reality unfurl before you almost exactly as you'd hoped. It made all the pain and hardship worth it. Almost.

There was something missing, and I was pretty certain I knew what that was. But I was too cowardly to face the conversation about loneliness right now, so I pushed the thoughts from my mind and gave my attention to the notifications I'd received during the ambush.

Skill gained – Stalking. Open skill slots available, skill integrated.

Skill 'Simple Traps' has increased in level. Simple Traps – level 5.

You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 12). Experience gained.

You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 11). Experience gained.

You have reached level 15. Attributes available for allocation.

Stalking – Active. You have experience stalking prey from a distance, and you have shown the ability to lie still for hours on end, letting the eyes of your prey flit over your body without notice. Activation of this skill will suppress the natural movements and noises your body produces, enabling you to hide your presence from unsuspecting prey. Further levels will also guide your positioning and foot placement on approach until you are as silent as a true predator.

Current skills:

Sure-footed: Level 5. Passive.

Running: Level 5. Passive.

Meat preparation: Level 3. Active.

Hill foraging: Level 4. Active.

Simple Traps: Level 4. Passive.

Improvised Weapons: Level 3. Passive.

Scrambling: Level 3. Passive.

Stalking: Level 1. Active.

All eight of my Skill slots were now filled and I had finally reached level 15, but I received no further prompts. That rankled. Jorge's words had led me to expect some sort of announcement of a class being given by this oh so benevolent system, and yet here I was; classless and confused.

Maybe I had to progress past level fifteen rather than just reach it? The problem was that I wasn't convinced my ambush today could be repeated, especially once the pack learned of it. The wolves seemed uncannily smart, and I shivered remembering the feeling of almost-understanding I had experienced when watching from atop my cliff as they conversed with one another.

What had Jorge said? Something about hitting level fifteen, and visualising my progress or Skills or something?

I put it to the back of my mind while I continued with the lonely task of cooking and eating. One after the other, I ate thin strips of meat, chewing mechanically but trying my best to enjoy the feeling of satiation as I filled my stomach.

I kept hiking as the light waned, searching forlornly for a good place to huddle up for the night. Despite the shelter provided by regular overhangs, it was noticeably colder up on the ridge than it was down in the valley, and while altitude no doubt played a role, I was fairly sure the trees must have had a huge heat-trapping effect that I now sorely missed.

Eventually, as I was considering turning back to a fairly bleak spot I had passed and discarded, I found a shallow cave that would serve as a camp for the night. I wrapped myself in my stained cloak, laying the meat down in the back of the cave behind me. I wondered if I should place the food at the front of the cave to make sure an enterprising scavenger would get to it before it got to me, giving me enough warning to potentially save myself. On the other hand, I didn't want to have my food stolen by anything that wouldn't 100% kill me.

Hunger and greed warred with fear and anxiety within me, my mind a battleground for their furious and unwitnessed struggle. It was a pyrrhic victory for fear and anxiety, for while they had vanquished their enemy, they had taken too long to do so, and by the time their victory became clear the titanic forces of sleep had arranged themselves on the field.

It was a slaughter.

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