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Before dark

Artifact Intent​

  • Story role: Decision. The MC commits to a shelter site, plans a fire, and writes the vow they will keep through the night.
  • Playable-lore position: clue -> investigation -> partial truth step in miniature. The MC names the night as the next problem and stages the work that will answer it.
  • What this artifact must not claim: any explanation of why the night is dangerous beyond the MC's own observations; any named hostile force; any narrator voice that knows what is coming.

Narrative Surface Notes​

  • Artifact shape: measured diary entry; the MC writes the way someone writes when they have stopped panicking and started counting.
  • Player-facing uncertainty: the MC names "things" only in abstract — the MC has not seen a hostile creature yet, only the wrong patch by the stream and the quiet of the air.
  • Journal or objective linkage: closes act0.survive.prepare-for-night; opens act0.survive.search-for-food.

Body Draft​

Before dark.

There is a stone outcrop where the slope breaks. A fallen tree lies across the lower side. The fallen tree leaves a wedge of dry ground under the outcrop the rain would not reach. That is the shelter. I have looked at three other spots and this is the best one.

I am going to make a fire small. Small for two reasons. First, I have only the one flint and the knife with the chipped edge and the small bundle of dry stuff I gathered on the way up. Second, a big fire is a beacon. I do not want to be a beacon to anything tonight.

I do not know what is out here. I know the air is quiet wrong. I know the patch by the stream is wrong. I know my body hurts more than the bruise on my forearm explains. That is enough for me to plan as if something is out there.

I wrote a line for myself at the top of this page, where I will see it in the morning if there is a morning. It says: do not leave the fire to die.

I will sleep in the wedge. The knife stays in my hand. The pack stays under my head. The water skin stays at the foot of the fallen tree where I will not knock it over reaching for it.

I am not afraid. That is a lie. I am afraid, but I am writing it down so that the fear has a place to be and does not have to come and live in my chest for the whole night.

I should eat something. There is not much, and I am thinking about whether I find food while the light still holds or whether I save what I have and stay put. I think I find food. The jerky is two strips and there will be a tomorrow.

Playable Consequences​

  • Immediate consequence: act0.survive.prepare-for-night resolves on shelter committed and fire plan registered; act0.survive.search-for-food opens.
  • Follow-up clue, mission, site, or world-state change: 'first shelter' becomes a registered site entity that later entries reference; the 'do not leave the fire to die' line registers as a Journal-pinned line.
  • Related branch or linear continuation: linear; next entry is act0-day1-food-or-trouble.

Review Notes​

  • Open questions: whether the 'do not leave the fire to die' line should also surface in the Journal's pinned-line UX is a gd-journal.md concern; this entry leaves the line in body prose only.
  • Canon-delta follow-up: none.
  • Audit carry-forward: the small-fire / beacon reasoning should stay consistent across later entries that touch demon-proximity caution.

Voice Readback​

Before dark.

There was a stone outcrop where the slope broke. A fallen tree lay across the lower side. The fallen tree left a wedge of dry ground under the outcrop that the rain would not reach. That was the shelter. I had looked at three other spots and this was the best one.

I was going to make the fire small. Small for two reasons. First, I had only the one flint and the knife with the chipped edge and the small bundle of dry stuff I had gathered on the way up. Second, a big fire was a beacon. I did not want to be a beacon to anything tonight.

I did not know what was out there. I knew the air was quiet wrong. I knew the patch by the stream was wrong. I knew my body hurt more than the bruise on my forearm explained. That was enough for me to plan as if something was out there.

I wrote a line for myself at the top of the page, where I would see it in the morning if there was a morning. It said: do not leave the fire to die.

I would sleep in the wedge. The knife would stay in my hand. The pack would stay under my head. The water skin would stay at the foot of the fallen tree, where I would not knock it over reaching for it.

I was not afraid. That was a lie. I was afraid, but I was writing it down so the fear had a place to be and did not have to come and live in my chest for the whole night.

I should have eaten something. There was not much, and I was thinking about whether I found food while the light still held, or whether I saved what I had and stayed put. I thought I would find food. The jerky was two strips and there would be a tomorrow.