Mulder took a rest stuck to the stream, drinking its fresh water like a mad man and, when filled up, washing out all the dirt and blood from his face and hands.

Relieved, he marveled at the gift he had been given, admiring the pure flow passing by and indifferent to his misery, yet sustaining his body and soul.

Then, what next?

A growl rose up from his belly.

Water was vital for survival, sure enough. But food was essential for his stomach. For how long he hadn't eaten something substantial? Far too fucking long, for sure.

There was a chance he could retrieve his backpack —snack packed-– now he had reached the lowest point of the trajectory of his fall. Certainly, the bag was somewhere, in the surroundings.

His spirit lifted by such a hope, Mulder stood up and began the search.

XXXXXX

After her descent, Scully made a little break on the banks of the charming creek she had aimed for.

She drank the last ounces of water from her bottle, ate a solid snack, then used her water filter to refill her bottle —as pure as the stream seemed to be, you were never too cautious.

Then, she pondered.

Contrary to her side that was all rocks and steep, the other side of the banks was flat and luxurious.

Besides, the vegetation opposite her was a marvel to observe, full of the strangeness and uniqueness she and Mulder had noticed on a few occasions before entering the underground tunnel.

Even from across the stream she was feeling an attraction, the green luxuriance somehow calling her. Was it the smell, the colors, or all the invisible chemicals pouring out of the leaves and barks?

Whatever, she couldn't deny her way downstream would be easier on the other side of the creek.

So, Scully shouldered her backpack and began to cross the waters, stepping on convenient mossy boulders.

XXXXXX

Mulder's search had been useless. Nada.

Where had his backpack disappeared? It was almost an X-Files.

Of course, Scully would have the perfect logical explanation, would be able to trace the fall of the bag and would conclude, squarely: gone with the water flow.

And, as a consequence: all the necessary snacks, gone. Mulder's stomach growled, in protest.

Thanks, Scully, for spoiling all my hopes.

Disappointed but rehydrated and always a believer, Mulder resumed his search.

Not for his bag, but for Scully.

Mulder began to limp, upstream, the only logical direction to follow.