Konsk: The Great Takeover of the Place.

9 Edgy Wilderness.

That first night out in the wilderness, in his tree, guarded by the boar, his sow and their offspring, Trueman was at times distracted by the dancing, coloured dots at the top of his vision. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes but this brought only a temporary relief so he tried to ignore them.

For the main though, his unsettled mind had skipped about, alternating between thoughts of this mysterious and somewhat disturbing new, Mesolithic phase of his life and what now seemed like his past, at the farm, though of course, he reasoned, it was in fact in his future.

At first he thought of his daughter, Catti, to no obvious purpose other than to stimulate the feeling of misery. So instead, he forced himself to imagine the Little Big Farm and, in particular, the network he had designed that he saw as its sensory apparatus. He gained some satisfaction in tracing its varied and precise connections and protocols, the complicated map of sensors, cameras and interactions. At least it served to pass the time.

He had hoped it would be warmer in the Mesolithic but the rain in the night combined with the enforced stillness of his posture meant he felt cold. At some point he did fall asleep and woke with a start to find himself not in his own bed, at home, ready for his morning porridge and a hearty mug of tea but no, still in the tree, clinging to its slim trunk with broad, strong fingers that were not really his own.

Sometime in the early morning, as the sky began to lighten with the first gleam of dawn, the pig family left. With only the occasional squeak, the subdued and sleepy piglets were nosed off by their watchful dam. The great boar turned upward and gave the human one last look, staring directly into Trueman’s eyes, then he too was gone with surprisingly little sound, considering his bulk. There came only an occasional distant crash and squeak, then, nothing.

Birds began to sing. At first just one or two, a trill, a peeping, then more and more until the sun arose above the hills and cast gleaming orange and red beams through the gently dancing leaves. The growing cacophony of the chorus was so persistent it began to tell on Trueman’s frayed nerves but at least his annoyance served as something of a distraction from the night's discomfort.

The hands were still sore and more blisters had burst through gripping so tightly to the tree. He winced as he flexed them, opening and closing the palms. Still, he thought, it is a powerful, healthy body, no doubt hardened by years of rough living, it will recover.

To be on the safe side he urinated from his branch. Having not eaten he felt no urge to evacuate the bowels and after peering intently into the two tunnels in the thicket and listening with care, striving to make out any other sound above that of the birds, he at last descended from his tree.

Ah, to be on terra firma once more! The simple pleasure made him stretch the new body, feeling the be-dewed leaf mould between his bare toes. He sprung lightly, remarked upon the not inconsiderable height that could be reached. Indeed this body was strong and fit, a veritable Mr. Universe, or Mr. Mesolithic perhaps. he chortled at his own wit, though it sounded more like a disturbing growl. Rather naked though; staring downward, he did miss his brown corduroy trousers.

Oh well, he thought, onwards. Spicer had said that the valleys were too densely wooded for travel so, Trueman reasoned, upward would be best, possibly to meet up with a ridge-way which, apparently, was at one time the favoured route for prehistoric travellers. He hoped also that the heights might offer a clearer view of the landscape, perhaps give sight of a curl of wood smoke, a distant settlement; after all, the new body had presumably been on its way both from and to somewhere.

So he followed the upward leading tunnel, stooping low at first but as the vegetation thinned somewhat, breaking free from the narrow confines, wary that there may be more than one family of pigs in the area; or indeed other beasts, for hadn't the motorbiker mentioned bears? He shuddered and began to make more careful observations of these wild surroundings, sweeping his gaze from side to side and occasionally checking behind.

Now he came upon open areas within the trees filled with sudden tangles of spiny gorse and thorny bramble. He suffered further abrasions and scratches yet only noted their occurrence briefly. After all, he repeated to himself, this body is strong and no doubt capable of self-repair. The earlier hurts, the dark blotches on his left thigh, still throbbed a little but he repressed the sensation easily.

At last the slope levelled out and he guessed that he breasted a long ridge. Though the tree cover here was lighter, there was still no open view, only patchy glimpses of distant, rolling hills, all more or less thickly forested. They receded into a blue distance, blurred by a shimmer of heat haze and faint trails of mist as the morning dew evaporated.

He tried to recall the scraps of information Dawn had given him about landscapes and plants but she was so disjointed in her thinking, nothing had really lodged in Trueman's mind. Or was it that he had never really listened?

He was aware that he lacked sufficient data to construct an accurate hypothesis; he needed more information. In particular, contact with the natives would be useful, if only to get some food. His stomach writhed at the thought. Yes, food, shelter.

He sifted through the memories of Spicer’s verbal discharges. The confluence of two rivers came to mind with cliff overhangs, caves, yes, as a semi-permanent base for the primitives. That sounded more likely than this scrubby ridge. A river meant fish and thus fishing, therefore fishers. Therefore he should descend. He nodded, pleased with his logic.

Now happily armed with a plan, no matter how vague, he crossed the crest of the ridge and set off downward. As if to reinforce his decision, the going became easier, the trees taller, their canopy shading out some of the thorny undergrowth in favour of soft mosses and tufts of grass.

Then a boggy patch where water issued from the surface and gathered into a moss lined pool. He tentatively risked a sip, awkwardly from the new hands. It tasted clean and pure, the pollutants of the modern world no doubt absent, he thought. He drank again, slurping it up repeatedly from the cupped hands.

The pool overspilled a jumble of mossy boulders and began a thin, winding voyage downward that soon widened, gathering in other minor tributaries until it loudly babbled of its rushing, bounding progress. In the humid, ionised air about this mountain stream, Trueman, felt refreshed, buoyant.

He began to tentatively explore some of the capabilities of the new body, at first carefully stepping from rock to rock then gradually increasing the pace as his confidence grew. The body seeming to act by itself and soon, like the stream, he leaped and bounded! Not overly familiar with athletic, physical exertion, Trueman was amazed at the balance and poise he could achieve. If nothing else, these savages were fit and gymnastic, he thought, the leaps spanning remarkable distances, arms gracefully balancing the bounding body like wings.

As he made his rapid descent he startled various birds and animals, some of which he recognised. A red squirrel raced up the trunk of an oak and ran out along a low branch, angrily chattering its annoyance at his passage. Further off in the woods he saw the sudden upraised head of a deer before it danced lightly away.

All was going extremely well until he suddenly questioned the safety of what he was doing, bounding from rock to rock at such a ludicrous pace! Immediately he missed his footing and toppled headlong into the beck, flailing his arms and sliding painfully to a stop in a shallow pool. Without allowing himself to feel the pain he leaped to his feet and hurriedly checked all around that no one had seen him but of course there was no one.

Feeling foolish and slightly dazed, he scratched at the lump on the chin. The body appeared hyperactive, as though flooded with adrenaline, trembling. Clusters of red specks danced at the top of his vision. Best to go more slowly, he reasoned, trying to slow the breathing, until the new body becomes more familiar.

Shakily, he resumed his descent, this time keeping to the trunks of the trees that grew more stately still, the crowns ever higher as he descended, supported by broader limbed oaks, one of the few trees he could recognise.

Rather than becoming more relaxed with this gentler progress, he became more and more unsettled. The shock of the fall, he thought and the extremely unusual situation. Indeed, he became decidedly emotional about it all, lost and alone as he was, without even a pen and paper to record events, let alone a personal digital assistant.

The situation was not helped when he glimpsed movement off to his left. He stopped, clinging to a trunk to observe the dark shape. Surely not more of the fierce wild boars? Or a bear? The speculations continued; hadn't there been mountain lions in the Mesolithic? He froze.

The borrowed heart began to pound in anticipation of action as Trueman sheltered behind a slender trunk, peering out from alternate sides, attempting to get a clearer view of whatever lurked in the middle distance. Then an unearthly shriek arose from that direction followed by the sounds of something crashing through vegetation. Another series of sounds, as if more than one monster was present.

His upper vision became blurred by the profusion of floating dots of light and the body began to tremble uncontrollably and take in huge gasps of air. It was all too much for Trueman and he allowed his panic to take over, turned away from the source of his fear and ran in a wild rush, down the wooded hillside.

Oblivious to any rational choice of a route he ran quite madly, bouncing of tree trunks, tripping over fallen branches, slipping and rolling further down the slope before managing to right himself. He blundered across an animal track, carelessly swerved to follow it, no thought of what other beasts might use it. The trees lowered to thicket once more, hemming the path in on either side, not that Trueman noticed or cared in his headlong flight.

Until, suddenly, he crashed to a shaking, gasping halt as he hit something, a barrier that gave slightly.

Drawing in great, gasping lungfuls of air he stared through the blurred vision at the obstacle and found the new fingers gripping the rusting, diamond mesh of a high fence that ran across the slope, extending as far as he could see in both directions.

Utterly unable to assemble a logical argument, Harold H. Trueman just hung there, shaking, in the fence.

Thanks for reading. What next for our reluctant hero? And what on earth is Learner the Traveller on about? Well, this is the only place to find out, although we may diverge into The Real Coed Y Brenin for a bit, as usual. Or is it a divergence? Getting hard to tell these days! Comments always welcome.

The pictures were all taken by me and all are of the re-vegetation project I wrote about here, Argel: The First Rewilding Project in Britain! except the last one, which some of you may recognise as being the blackthorn thicket that featured in Gelli: The Sacred Groves of the Druids, with the addition of a diamond mesh pattern.

That’s it. Take care all. Hwyl! Chris.