- [x] Set timer for 20 minutes - [x] Start writing His eyes opened. A gentle but cold kiss on the top of his head told him it was snowing. Steaming exhalations of dragon-like breath told him it was cold. The twisted arms of wind-stunted pines told him he was in the mountains. So, why was he laying on his back? How had he gotten there? Where was he? A trickling snowmelt stream down his central back inspired him to sit up. His head hurt, his back hurt, his legs were tired. His left elbow ached, but everything seemed to work, except his memory, so far. Now standing, he was on a trail, he was in the mountains, which mountains, where? Why? When? He should take inventory. His backpack was meant for a day trip. Wait, who was he? He unslung the pack, and put it on the ground. He pulled his mittens off, kneeled on them with just his right knee in a practiced fashion, and dug through the pack. The brain held a snickers bar, a first-aid kit with a knife and wind-proof matches, and some lip-balm with 50 feet of 4 mm parachute cord and an InReach GPS indicator. The InReach was turned on. It was transmitting his location. To whom? He looked up the trail, it was well trodden. He couldn't tell his footprints from others. There was a big body print on the ground, and a little blood. Ok, he had slipped and fallen, hit his head, he was on a hike. He continued to dig through the pack. Three 1 gallon ziplock bags held dry socks, hat, and gloves, a pair of long underwear, and a moderately worn black wool sweater. There was words, a golden seal, and patches on it. Further inventory revealed an insulated two liter water-bottle, about 3/4 full. There was a USB-C battery for charging a phone or the InReach. A squat zippered pouch held a micro-stove, 400 mL titanium pot, a small gas canister. Lifting that up, he felt something hard an metallic. A Glock 9mm fit to his hand like an old friend. He didn't remember it, but it felt like rolling over in bed asleep and being comforted by a long-time lover. A hand-gun, while hiking, huh. Thinking back to the blood on the trail, he reached up to feel his head. His fingers came away with blood on them, but not too much. He felt a small hole in the middle of the back of his head, it was painful. Just above that hole, he could feel something between his scalp and his skull. He pushed it, and it popped out the hole. It was a slug, deformed, probably 9 mm as well. How did he know? He just knew. He looked left and right, gathered everything back into the pack, and pulled himself up, mittens on, and backed off the trail. His eyes scanned back and forth. Nothing. No one. Should he activate the InReach? Was this his pack? Was he being tracked? Watched? Had someone tried to kill him? His head throbbed, he threw up. Was that jerky? His off-trail tracks were obvious, there was no covering them up. He mine as well go back to the trail, at least the footing was good there. He placed the bullet that he had pulled out of his head into the 5th pocket on his pants, and looked left and right, up and down the trail, or up and up more accurately. It looked up-hill in both directions. He was in a col, a saddle point. Ok, what did he know. He looked at his hands, strong, well kept, little fine hairs only, nails done, no rings. She, was he she? She seems like a she. She or he, we don't know, but we know I'm me, but who is me? Who am I? Who's bag is this? What should I do? Where should I go? Or should I stay where I am? They threw up again. Then felt the urge to urinate, strongly now. Ok, I'm she. And I have a Glock that I seem to know very well, and a bullet in the back of my head, and I'm in the mountains, in the snow, with a snickers and less than two liters of water, and a stove. No map, no phone, no plan, no clue. And now, I'm feeling cold. The sun is not above me, and seems lower than when I woke on my back. I have a watch, a Casio digital G-Shock. It reads 3:45 PM. The sun is going down. I'm staying on the trail, I'm walking left, we will see what happens, moving will give me information.