"Holy shit," I whisper to the camera, bringing it up to my face. My hands are shaking slightly. "Okay, so that just happened. Mountain man is real and he is terrifying and also kind of—"
I cut myself off. My followers don't need to know that I find him compelling. That despite the fear still making my pulse race, I'm also intensely curious. That his voice did something strange to my stomach.
That's probably just adrenaline. Has to be.
I make my way to the stream, kneeling on the moss-covered bank. The water is ice cold when I dip my bottle in, so clear and clean it doesn't even need filtering. I take a long drink, the cold shocking my system in the best way.
The clearing is beautiful in the fading light. Peaceful, despite the hostile occupant. I can see why someone would choose to live here, away from everything and everyone. There's a serenity to it, a simplicity.
But also a loneliness.
I glance at the cabin. There's one small window, and through it I can see movement. A shadow passing back and forth, agitated.
Twenty minutes, he said.
I check my watch and settle onto a relatively dry log, pulling out my phone. No service, obviously, but I can still review the footage I captured.
The video quality is good despite the fading light. I watch myself push through the brambles, hear my gasp of discovery. The cabin looks even more isolated on screen, like something from another century.
And then he appears.
I pause the video on his face, zooming in slightly.
Even frozen and pixelated, he's striking. Not handsome in any conventional sense. Too rough for that, but the kind of face that tells stories, that's lived through things I can only imagine.
I wonder what brought him here. What he's running from, because he's definitely running. People don't isolate themselves like this without reason.
My fingers hover over the delete button. He told me to delete the footage. I should respect that, respect his privacy.
But I don't press it.
Not yet, anyway. I'll decide later, when I'm back in town with internet and perspective and not sitting in this clearing.
The cabin door opens again.
I quickly pocket my phone, standing up as he emerges. He's carrying something, a bundle wrapped in cloth.
He crosses the clearing in long strides and thrusts it toward me.
"Here."
I take it. It's warm, and when I unfold the cloth, I find thick slices of bread and what looks like dried meat.
"You didn't have to—"
"Getting dark faster than you think up here," he interrupts, still not meeting my eyes. "You won't make it back to town tonight. Not safely."
"What are you saying?"
"There's a ranger station about three miles east." He points. "Follow the stream. You'll find a trail after about half a mile. Trail leads straight to the station. They'll have bunks."
Three more miles. After I've already done twelve. I must make some kind of face because his expression hardens further.
"Should've thought of that before you went off-trail in unfamiliar territory."
"You're right," I admit. "That was stupid. I got caught up in the moment and I didn't think—"
"Clearly."
