Antillar Maximus

Eight days. Eight days in a freakin' inhospitable forest being chased by some really freakin' inhospitable (if improbably hot) women with swords. And those women very clearly knew how to use those swords. He'd barely gotten out of that first little scrap with his life. Being unarmed hadn't helped, but he wasn't sure he'd have been able to take them out even if he'd been fully kitted out. They were fast, strong, and clearly well trained. Better than him, that was for sure.

He'd been dang lucky to sneak up on one of them under a sight shield to grab a blade and some rations.

Not that there'd been much. He'd gone through them in a couple of days.

So now he had a gnawing hunger in his belly, six days of unshaved stubble, and one incredibly ragged pair of jeans. He'd given up his shirt early on since it kept getting caught on things.

He hadn't been sleeping well, either. The Cursors didn't call it "Escape and Evasion", but he had some training. And he was good enough at it to both still be running around after a week, and to know that he probably wouldn't last more than a couple more days.

After all: he's on an island. There's nowhere to run.