With the river trickling to the right of me, and the trees lining my path to the left, I walk down the uneven, muddy path, completely engrossed in the nature around me and, more broodingly, my thoughts.

The river seems like a sheet of silver and blue metal glinting in the afternoon sunlight. It runs smoothly, gracefully. If water were a person, it would never step a foot wrong.

Unlike England, there's no breeze here. There's nothing to cool the heat off my burning skin, or to make the trees sway. No gentle, stirring breeze. The trees are static, still, silent. And, in some ways, it makes them even more beautiful.

As much as I like looking at the scenery, I can never do it enough so that it distracts the other things. Like my stomach. Every few minutes it'll growl, and I'll lay a hand on it as though to tame the vicious beast.

And then there's the indecision. I've forced it back, taking my mind off it with admiring the view, but now it plays at the forefront of my mind, taunting me.

Maybe you should have gone with Bea, I keep telling myself over and over again. Maybe it would have been a better option.

I combat my thoughts with some rebuttal of my own. I chose my choice, and now I'll have to stick to it.

Do I? Do I really?

And then there's another pang of hunger that makes me double over, clutching my stomach. Wildly, I look around, but there is nothing in sight.

Suddenly, I feel very, very alone.

The river's trickling seems too loud; the trees ominous. I can just imagine Bea sitting on a tree stump somewhere, having found a supply of food. Maybe she's found the trout, killed it, and is roasting it at this very moment.

I glance ahead. There, again, is the knot at the pit of my stomach.

We were travelling in that fish for a long time. And it was travelling fast. So fast that I'm probably miles away from the digging site. As though to confirm my thoughts, I don't recognise this part of the forest, this part of the river.

Along the path up ahead, nothing strikes out at me. Nothing. The digging site is gone.

I could be almost at the sea, for all I know.

Another pang. This time I cry out, fall to my knees, the gravel cutting them.

The pain blinds me.

It stabs, roaring in my abdomen.

I'm going to die out here. All alone.

The digging site is too far.

Too far for this pain.

An image flashes to mind. Bea with her electric green eyes, her stoic nature.

Then I'm on my feet, swaying like the trees never did.

"BEA!"

The yell escapes my lips, throat now raw.

Through the blur of the tears, I can see the path. I stumble down it, pace quickening with every step.

"BEA!" I scream again. "WAIT!"

As I thrash blindly through the foliage, I hope, hope that I'm not too late.