Sleep was not pleasant. The ground is uncomfortable, and the tree branches are unstable. I lapsed in and out of unconsciousness as the fire dwindled until the morning sun finally woke me up and kept me that way. I need to move on from this area and find a place to stay. Simply put, I have a single goal: get home. To do this, I shall need to create another gate. Without any of my tools, resources or infrastructure. This could take me several months if I am extremely lucky, and many years if I am not. But if I am to even survive the week, I shall need to create a base of operations.

Today, I begin my trek towards the western mountains and the setting sun. Wish me luck.

Oh, I will willy.

I...I did not write that.

I'm currently sitting under a tree at the edge of the forest, as the last of the sunrise disappears over the mountains. I do not remember writing those words at all, how...

How could someone have written in it, and how do they know my name, and why are they...flirting with me? This journal has not left my sight all day, and I haven't stopped walking until I arrived here. Truthfully, I don't remember leaving the other campfire, but the whole trip blended together as is. Aside from a few gigaflys (what I am calling these new butterflies), the trip was largely uneventful. So how in the hell did that get in here? Am I just going mad? That itching behind my ears still hasn't gone away, so maybe that has something to do with it? But what correlation could that possibly have?

This is going to drive me mad. For now, it did not happen. I am a perfectly sane human being, who does not write strange messages to himself. Why if I met such an individual, I would send for the police as soon as I could.

It's night time now, and the wind is picking up. This biome is enormous, and I'm not sure how many kilometers I've trekked. It must be at least twenty by my estimates, and the mountains are fast approaching. I should reach them in two days, if not tomorrow. Once there, I can ascend their peaks and gain a better understanding of my surroundings, and be able to see past them to whatever lies beyond. For now, my campfire is suffering, so I will have to get some more wood.

I have returned, and made a chilling discovery. As I was exploring the surroundings for more sticks, I decided to venture beyond the bounds of my campfires light. The darkness was absolute, totally obscuring my sight. The air went from temperate to bone chilling in a step, causing my limbs to lock up at the drastic temperature change. My chest got so tight I thought I might pass out, but I managed to stay conscious. Then the itchiness began, accelerating the pain from the cold into a state of lucid madness. I clutched at my ears, my hands shaking and my lungs barely taking in the air. I had to force myself to take a step back, into the warmth. The cold and itchiness left my body as quickly as they had arrived, leaving me short of breath, but otherwise unscathed.

I had no desire to experience that again, so I grabbed a stick from the fire and held aloft, casting its light into the darkness. I took a step through the threshold, then another, and another. The cold did not come back, and the itchiness was manageable. I grabbed as many sticks as I could carry, fearing the consequences of running out of torchlight, and hurried back to my campfire. The fire is now roaring nicely, and I think I will use the time until morning to nap.

Goodnight.

Day four

I have had yet another rubbish sleep. Partially due to the uneven and uncomfortable ground, and partly because of those words. "Oh I will willy." I keep rereading the passage over and over, trying to remember when or why I made it, but I find nothing. It is so alien, and yet it must be my doing. In its tired state, my brain cooked up the idea of a ghost writing me messages in order to drive me mad, but this only presents even more questions than it answers. I can feel myself get itchier whenever I think about it, so I will endeavour to set out soon. A morning walk may help to clear my mind.

It is now afternoon. Maybe 3:00PM by my reckoning. I have stopped by a small stream in order to rehydrate. The itching and the thoughts of my ghostly follower have only grown more prominent chasing themselves around the inside of my skull without resolution. I fear that if this keeps up, I shall become a gibbering lunatic before I am even a week here. Nonetheless, the water is cool and refreshing, and I have taken the opportunity to wash myself and my grimy clothing. I write this as I dry off in the afternoon sun, with my skivvies laid over a nearby boulder.

I have just witnessed something incredible. As I was drying off, a titanic beast lumbered out of the forest on the other side of the stream. It was easily twice the size of a human and longer than any horse I have ever seen, and had enormous horns jammed into each side of its skull. It had heaps upon heaps of fur, leading me to believe that it is some kind of buffalo. I managed to spot the creature before it spotted me, and I dove behind the boulder my clothes where drying on. Then I watched as another one, and another, and tens more waddled slowly out of the trees. The whole herd of super buffalo then lined up and began to drink from the stream. I felt sure that they would drain it. They where unable to but that's not to say they didn't try. Almost half an hour later, the herd finished drinking, and shuffled back into the forest, in the exact same direction I wish to travel.

Having had nothing for it, I grabbed my clothes in a bundle, waded across the stream, and ran after the beasts. I caught up with them easily, their lumbering speed no match for my nimbler size. At first, and against my better judgement, I tried to approach them. The moment I got too close, each one of the super buffalo stopped in their tracks and lifted their heads high, as if sensing my approach. I backed off, having no desire to face even one of those creatures. Once I got outside a range of about thirty metres, they seemed happy to carry on.

I followed them for the rest of the afternoon, winding and twisting through the forest at random. Finally, as the sun began to set, they all curled up in a clearing. I thought this to be my cue, and began collecting firewood. I found a larger tree that one of the buffalos had knocked over, and began using some nearby sticks to get it going. Alas, I cannot find a stick that will grant me the fire I need.

You better thank me for this willy!