I'm running again. No suprise. The hounds are relentless. This time, they came with more numbers, nipping at my heels, their snarls and growls echoing through the night. It's as if they know where I am, no matter where I go. There's no true safety here. Every few days, they find me. They come, teeth bared and eyes glowing in the darkness, and I have to run—again.
I'd thought maybe the first attack was an isolated event, but it's clear now that the hounds will keep coming, and each time they bring more of their pack. It's maddening, the constant threat, never knowing when they'll strike. My heart races every time I hear their distant howls, knowing it's only a matter of time before they close in. I fought them off this time too, barely. I managed to kill them with my pickaxe, but they're fast—too fast for me to stand my ground. Kite, hit, kite, hit. It's the only strategy that works. But it's exhausting. Each encounter leaves me drained, both physically and mentally.
And now... I think winter is coming.I can feel it in the air. It's colder, and the days grow shorter. The sun barely hangs in the sky before the darkness swallows it again. But I can't be sure if winter was already on its way when I was brought here or if the seasons in this world are just as fleeting as everything else. Time doesn't seem to follow any natural order. Daylight, night, the shifts in temperature—nothing is constant. It's disorienting, and I'm left questioning everything I thought I knew. But I have no answers. Only more questions. How long has it been since I arrived? Are the seasons short here, or was I just unlucky enough to arrive on the cusp of winter? How can I prepare when I don't even know how much time I have left? I can't keep moving forever. I need a plan, a base, something more than just running and gathering, but the land is unforgiving, and the hounds won't give me the chance to settle.
The constant movement is starting to affect me. My thoughts are scattered, harder to keep focused. The pressure of survival is wearing me down. I haven't been sleeping well—not that I'd call anything I've done since I got here sleep. Every noise, every rustle in the bushes or crack of a branch, snaps me awake. And now... now I'm starting to see things. Shadows.They're not real—I know they're not real. They can't be. But in the corners of my vision, I see them. Dark figures, twisted and misshapen, lurking just out of sight. They move when I'm not looking directly at them, always there, always watching. Whispers, too—faint at first, but growing louder each time I try to ignore them. I can't quite make out what they're saying, but they're there, on the edge of hearing, just beneath the wind and the rustle of the trees... I know what this is. It's my mind playing tricks on me. The lack of rest, the constant stress... it's all wearing me down. My sanity is slipping, little by little. I need to focus, to stay sharp, but the more I fight it, the worse it gets.
I'm not at the breaking point yet—not entirely. But if this continues, if I don't find some stability soon, I know where it's headed. The shadows will grow darker, the whispers louder, and eventually... I've seen glimpses of what might happen if my mind completely falters. My mind is only thing I can count on, If it is gone... I'll be defenseless.
I've read about this, you know—the effects of isolation, the toll it takes on the mind. But reading about it and living it are two very different things. I have to get through this... Somehow...
Tomorrow, I'll need to gather more supplies, maybe try to craft something that can help fend off the hounds or, better yet, keep me warm when winter finally hits. At some point, I'll have to face whatever this world throws at me—whether I'm ready or not. But for now... I'll try to sleep, though I doubt I'll find much peace tonight too...