The next several weeks were filled with much toil, but things at Alec's homestead began to take the form that he liked. The most important part of that was the new doors.

It was his first effort at cutting large timber, and it was even more daunting than he thought it would be. He chose old and dead trees for that very purpose, timbers that were dried but not yet rotten. His first effort at crafting a wood saw was only fair, and he needed to make a second blade after the first broke. That took the better part of ten days. Within a week of completing his second saw, he had sturdy oak doors and shutters on the windows, all one inch thick.

The rest of his time—time not spent gathering food and engaging in other necessities—was spent building an escape hatch in his cottage, constructing an out of the way bunker about 100 yards distant, and working building weapons with which he might defend himself.

It was a burdensome time during which he saw not another soul, which led him several times to think that perhaps he was overreacting. But no. Better to be wrong and have a sturdy defense plan than to be right and have no defense plan at all. He so much had not expected to again be thinking like a soldier. But there was no escaping it.

And who was he kidding? Why did he expect this world to be any different than the last? This was no paradise, no matter what the religious minded might think.

So, he buckled down and worked. It was nearly a month before his tiny homestead began to look more like what he wanted. The house was sturdy, with solid doors and windows, the bunker was small but well concealed, and his escape hatch was just big enough for him to slip away and crawl unseen to a patch of woods 30 or so feet away. He even carefully transplanted some saplings so his residence would not be so easy to see from the road or the stream.

He brought in enough fruit, berries, and fish that, once he had dried them, they were able to fill several large clay urns, and he stored two large containers of water in the house and in his bunker. He wouldn't be withstanding a siege of years, or even months, but if he felt the need to stay close to home for a few weeks, he would be fine.

His skill at the bow improved, he fletched nearly 200 arrows, and, most important, he hit upon the right formula for forging proper steel. The blades he next made were not of the best quality, but they were good—nearly as good as the small knife his mysterious friend had given him.

In quick order, he forged two more knives, scores of arrowheads, and a broad thick blade that fitted to the end of a seven-foot staff that made a perfectly serviceable spear. It sounded ridiculous, thoroughly bonkers, but he decided that he soon would try his hand at crafting a wooden shield and, later, a helmet. His clothing was durable, and probably would turn a blade. But one good conk to the head would be all that was necessary to finish him off. A helmet was what he needed, even if just something of padded leather.

He had very little time to ponder the events of his trip across the stream, and he'd seen neither hide nor hair of any nefarious characters since his return. Of course, he'd made himself too busy to keep a careful watch beyond his immediate proximity. He did jump a few times at sudden movements, but otherwise he'd weathered the time well.

Somewhat more of his attention was taken up by thinking of the friend he had made across the stream. He wondered outright whether she was in any peril, but he dismissed that notion after a few days. For all he knew, the people who came after him that night may have been friends or confederates of hers. At the very least, it appeared that she had dwelt in that area much longer than he, probably for her whole life, and she appeared to have done well.

But there were some other thoughts. His physical condition in recent years had been so run down that normal thoughts, and certain bodily reactions, had all but completely abandoned him. When he awoke in the glade upon first arriving in this world, he'd felt a stirring in that way for the first time in many years.

Truth be told, one of his first companions in this land, the Australian woman Tina, was damn pleasant to look at. Things had only gotten worse for him since.

It wasn't like he walked around all day with a raging boner, but his intense euphoria and bemusement at once again waking up to a morning tumescence had lost its luster. It was great to feel that youthful libido again, but enough was enough.

And his new neighbor, who he had not yet assigned a name, even for his own reckoning, was more than just somewhat appealing. Alec had never been a modest man, but his thoughts of late had left him blushing.

He thought several times about going to visit the young woman, but each time he talked himself out of it. He even reasoned that it would be nice to go back and try to find the knife he lost in the woods, and while he was out that way ....

No.

He gave up those thoughts. He had struck out on his own for a reason, and that reason was not to go chasing after a woman. Alone time was what his body and his spirit needed, and he intended to give it to them.

He spent the next week exploring the area nearest home, foraging for food, and making more flax thread. He wasn't sure what he would first do with the flax, but it was always good to have some of the stuff. In fact, he pondered the idea of expanding his small home, perhaps building a shed or a barn to begin to store some of the things he had been crafting.

He had rope and twine, clay pots and vessels of various kinds, some raw iron, more than enough wood and charcoal for the immediate future, and food and water.

Some cloth would be nice, and maybe something to write on. He didn't have the foggiest idea how to pulp wood for paper (his skill set had its limits), which left only animal skins. The need to make parchment had never arisen before, but he understood the theory. So, that would mean pigs, cows, and/or goats.

He'd seen feral versions of all of those, so he decided that before crafting anymore weapons he would take a survey of what was in the area and come up with a plan. Over the next few days, he went out each day, with bow in hand, and did some stalking.

His first few days on this new project felt productive. He identified a spot near a pool about a mile up the road where a herd of feral goats sometimes congregated. From his count, there were fewer than 20, and the boss of them was a thick-shouldered Billy that Alec decided would need to go into the pot.

The trick was how to get the rest of them to come along. Perhaps he could just leave food out for them, allow the animals to get used to his presence, and then lure them into a pen? That didn't sound right. It might take forever, and there was no certainty of success.

In the end, he decided merely to use one of his nets to set a snare. In that way, he intended to snare a few females and, if everything went right, their kids would follow them along. He didn't need the whole group of them, just enough to have a little milk—at least for the time being. He'd never enjoyed goat meat, but his died needed some variety.

That plan took up much of his time for the next ten days or so. The Billy put up a good fight, and he was tasty. Despite some initial setbacks, Alec soon had a dozen or so goats, large and small, penned in a small meadow near his home. Like the chickens he had cooped up, he would feed the goats by hand for a few months until they were accustomed to their prison, and then he would let them out during the day to forage.

Was it wrong of him to be proud of himself? No, perhaps "proud" wasn't the right word. He did feel a sense of accomplishment at the growth of his small herd. Maybe the word "contentment" was the correct one?

Who knows. His little farmstead was thriving, he hadn't seen any danger since his night in the forest, and he had nothing but time, time to do whatever he wished.

It was these happy thoughts that ran through his head as he headed back home of an evening. He had a female goat over his shoulder, legs tied front and back, with two young kids bounding along behind them. This was the last animal he intended to take for the time being.

Perhaps after that, he would begin looking to corral a few heads of cattle. That would be much more problematic, but he would find a way to do it.

He was very nearly back home when something across the stream caught his attention. On the far side of the narrow ribbon of water stood a person.