Tothor shook his head to clear the water from it and brushed his long greasy hair back behind his ears, then stood 
shivering in the breeze that was rattling through teh forest next to the river.  He would have to find shelter and 
soon before the cold seeped into his bones.  Fuel would not be a problem--there seemed to be plenty of dead wood 
lying around--but everying was wet, what would he use for kindling?  A sudden panic filled him and he quickly 
checked the belt holding his simple hide tunic in place.  Sighing with relief he let his hand drop, at least he 
still had his fire kit although it too was sodden from the time spent in the water.  Reaching up to it again he 
squeezed the water out of the pig-skin pouch before idly letting his hand fall to his hip to check that his knife 
was still in place.  In truth he had already checked this as soon as he had emerged from the water--the knife was 
his most treasured possession and he always kept it strapped to his thigh on the inside of his breeches to keep it 
safe.  A knife and a tinder kit, and the clothes on his back, it could be worse he thought and turned to gaze at 
the boiling turmoil downstream.  At least he hadn't gone through _that_.  His pack with the warm cloack, precious 
bow and ration of salted meat had gone over the rapids though and left him shivering on the rocky bank.

_I will have to make an offering in the Temple of Joy_, he thought grimly--even though he did not feel any real 
joy it would not do to anger the gods still further.  With a grunt of disgust aimed at the events that had led to 
his situation, Tothor scrabbled up the steep craggy bank and into the woodland beyond.  The edge of the forest was 
thick underbrush that snagged at his clothing but once he was properly under the canopy the vegetation thinned.  
Here it was darker and cooler but at least provided some protection from the squalls of rain that had been coming 
in increasing freauency since he had hauled himself out of the river.

Autumn was getting old and the long fingers of Winter were grasping at the landscape around him. If he were to 
find any shelter tonight it would have to be something evergreen, or something he constructed himself.  Moving 
forward with his arms wrapped around his chest in a vain attempt ot keep some heat in he knew that soon he would 
have to stop wandering and find a good enough spot, bed down and build a fire.  The thought of going on until he 
collapsed and then became food for the beasts of the forest did not appeal so with another snarl of frustration he 
retraced his steps to a stand of conifers he had passed half an hour before.  The thick cover of branches at least 
would keep the freezing rain off.  Picking a large wide trunked tree to reflect as much heat from the fire as 
possible he gathered kindling and dead wood into a pile big enough to last the night then set about strikig his 
fire iron against the flint from his kit.  With dry tinger he would get a fire going in just a few strikes but 
with everything so wet and his hands so cold it seemed to take an ages before the small spark of a new fire 
greeted him.  Cupping it in his shivering hands he wrapped a bundle of dryish grass and some shavings from the 
pine tree around it and blew gently to get the fire going.  Once this proto fire was spitting into its smoky life 
he set about the rest of the camp, if you could call it that, creating wind breaks and setting a few cut branches 
down for a bed.  This would be home...for now.