The Luck Of Yesterday [A Hermitcraft fanfic](Being rewritten)

Chapter Two: Sticks and stones

G∷ian'ᓭ POV

I gripped my arms tighter, shivering as the wind tugged at my damp hair, a result of my failed attempts to cross the river. The sun rose slowly, warming my red sweater and torn wings, both layed out to dry on the rotting leaves. The majority of my wounds had healed at an alarming rate, the wounds that still remained were rimmed with a soft purple, the entire time they grew smaller, I can only assume my abnormally fast healing rate was a side effect whatever made my eyes glow, that was the only viable theory I had so far.
Sighing I stood, hoping that by doing something active I may warm up, besides, I needed a shelter before nightfall. While I had been fairly safe on my first night in the clearing I had certainly seen shadows of grotesk creatures watching me from the tree line, each of them something I would prefer keeping my distance from. Standing up I dusted off my thin grey shirt, leaving it dirtier than before, long streaks of mud trailing from my hands.
Groaning silently, I tussled my dirty blond locks before heading to a nearby tree, sticks scattered across the ground particularly hidden by foliage.
Humming in satisfaction, the unheard sound vibrating in my throat, I bundled up a few sturdy sticks, holding them in awkward positions, occasionally stabbing myself in the face, as I reached down and added a few large stones to the pile. Walking back into the clearing I set down the bundle of scraps, a small Spruce tree casting them in shadow. Hooking my fingers in the tattered material of my sweater I dragged it closer, sitting down on a root, jutting from the podzoled ground.
The left arm was almost unrecognisable, basically strips of cloth that are likely to get caught on things, it's better to use it in other ways then leave it a hazard.
Grasping one of the sharp rocks in my right hand, the edges digging into my palm, I held the fabric down with my left, making quick work of cutting the arm into long tendrils, yet thick enough for stability. Setting aside what was left of my sweater I used several strips to make tools, the red fabric acting like rope, holding together pieces of wood and stone, crafting them as if I was following a recipe in a book. Soon enough I had a stone axe, sword, picaxe and shovel. Shoving the rest of the fabric into my pockets I stood up, rolling my shoulders as I looked on with pride.

Slipping on my sweater, the arm struggling to cover even my shoulder, I headed back into the forest, dawning my axe.
For a few hours I worked, cutting down trees and storing the wood in a makeshift pouch patch wound together by a few of the remaining strings of cloth, I'd have to make a more permanent form of an inventory. Wiping my forehead I felt my stomach growl, even without sound I knew it was my stomachs way of telling me it needed food. Glancing around I swapped out my quickly dulling stone axe for a still sharp sword, the glow of my eyes reflecting off the barbaric weapon.
Walking slowly through the underbrush I spotted a speck of white between the trees, I had a feeling that if my eyesight was lacking any I would have missed it, but sure enough, as I rounded a trunk I could see the form of a lone sheep grazing calmly.

Gripping the handle of my sword I approached it carefully, watching as it rose its head slowly, glancing around for a minute befor going back to grazing, it's stance loose and relaxed. Just as I drew close enough to attack it stiffened and jolted it's head up, looking me dead in the eyes for what felt like forever, before speeding off, fear guiding its legs like wings. I glanced around startled, trying to figure out what spooked it. Shame crept into my heart as I glanced down, noticing the stick that was splinterd under my foot, my lack of hearing stopping me from stalking it quietly. Kicking the dirt angrily I turned and started heading back to the clearing. The light of the sun had begun to fade, the last of its rays painting pretty patterns on the forest floor. I smiled at a warm memory of watching the sun fade, small flashes of familiar faces, all of them blurred from my vision, the occasional laughter filling my mind. Just for a moment.
Shaking my head I glanced around, a small headache forming behind my eyes. What was I thinking of? The memory seemed to slip away like water, taking all the details with it. I shrugged, if I can't remember it, it probably wasn't important. It was actually sort of comforting to be without memories, nothing to hold onto meant I could be whatever I wanted to be, and right now that was asleep.

Making my way out of the spruce forest, I glanced around the empty clearing, my mind racing with ideas on how I can fill it, massive structures that my hands itched to create. Setting down my supplies I quickly made a small crafting table, setting it under the lone tree in the clearing, then used that to create two chests, one I could throw everything into for a jumbled form of storage, and a smaller one that I wore on my waist, acting almost like an extra inventory, I smiled, putting the red fabric and a few berries I had stumbled across into the smaller chest, moving everything else to the bigger one. Turning I picked up the two tatterd wings and slung them over my back, feeling them sit in place comfortably. While they weren't much aid to flight they would at least act as a wind gaurd, any extra layers to protect me from the environment was welcomed.

After half an hour of fighting with slightly damp sticks I finally managed to start up a fire, it burned slowly on the quickly drying logs, I smiled, letting the warmth of the flames soak into my bones. I sighed sadly, imagining what the cracking flames would sound like. If a fire burned in the forest but no one could hear it, did it make a sound? Standing up I moved to the large chest, set next to the crafting bench, and I picked out a few wooden logs and planks, quickly setting to work on building a shelter. Everything fell into place as if I had built similar structures in the past. I worked swiftly, humming to little songs in my head, unable to hear sounds, thinking of music was all I could do to pass the time.
By the time I stepped back to admire my work stars were already glistening in the night sky, the hours of work causing me to ache more than I thought possible. Smiling I grabbed a small sign and placed it at the door of the mixed house, the rustic and futuristic styles blending together beautifully.
I adjusted the sign, going to write something, my hand hovered above the wood, thinking of what to brand it with. Nodding to myself I quickly wrote a small welcome sign, two different Alphabets clashing together almost mystically. At this point I had learned not to question where I gained knowledge of such things and just accepted it, the two languages worlds apart. Straightening the sign one last time I smiled, reading over the letters, full of pride.

'Welcome to the home of ̇/ᒷꖎᑑ⚍ᔑ'