This was not a shiver.

These were quakes that ran through my body unabated. 

Wave after wave threatened to take out my knees with no ability for regrowth or even a splint for support.

Without some sort of plan, or a next move, I was hanging on by a fingernail. If not, I'd surely be checked in! 

Covered in cuts and bruises with blood in my hair and on my face, giving up crossed my mind. 

Just lay down and sleep the rest away. The idea seemed almost perfect at the time. 

But I couldn't give in. I wouldn't give in. I'll go to my grave in defiance! My stubborn rage kicked in everytime.  I couldn't articulate the words at the time but, if I could I would've said,

"If I was to succumb to all that was then who was I?"

That was the last piece of control I had in my life. Whether I rolled over or I kept standing up. 

I will not give them that last part of me! I will not give them the idea that they have broken who I am! FUCK THAT!

Ok, mission accomplished. Panic has been averted. Now decision time. 

Get out or get out. It's a no brainer really. OK that part was easy.  I started to scan the now alien surroundings for any familiar object. 

I looked up a large pine slightly bent at the center and off on the left branch sat my water jug. the handle of it  hooked onto a lower one. 

Small favors that sometimes give hope.

I made my way gingerly through the brambles, sticks and boughs to the base of the pine tree. Luckily, there were some intact lower branches I could climb to reach my water jug...so I did. My protesting body grudgingly obeyed.

Tent remnants were sticking out here and there.  I tore a piece of it soaked it in water and began to clean my wounds plus some of the grime from my body.

This was torture. A sting session from beginning to end. I splashed some water on my hair to rinse the blood off my scalp while it sings its sharp soprano.

I scanned the ground began shifting branches around and lifting limbs. I was shocked and confounded when before me, in the exact spot I put them when I went into the tent the night before.

There sat my runners waiting like nothing happened. 

This in itself gave me direction. I remembered the orientation my runners had to my tent and the orientation of my tent to a trail getting me out. But I had been covering my trail of course. 

Challenges never cease.

So the next decision made, it was time to try and get out.

I turned and looked at what was my home for the last several months and recognized nothing but knew this spot had harbored me for some time. 

I gave it the respect it deserved.

Offering a slight bow and a wave, I slowly picked, climbed and snapped my way in the general direction I thought I needed to go.

If I could find one of the main trails, then surely I'll make it out. Direction, however, is subject to change.

With every broken bough, every fallen tree, when bush has turned into tumble weed, comes the place where trails become extinct.

Direction becomes directionless...