Set out around daybreak from my encampment with the basic supplies; my map, my compass, a bow and plenty of arrows, a couple of throwing spears, enough rations for a few days in the field and a water skin. Damn skin's full of holes, so I'd have to watch my water if I wanted to make the most of the trip. Same goes for the rations; a Dodo egg and three slabs of meat, cooked to hell and back. Can't tell what from anymore; not that it's fine dining to begin with. When you roast it over a camp fire, squatting in a stone hut with the ocean roaring on one side and the screaming jungle on the other, wondering if you'll ever wake up let alone see another sunrise...Well, that's enough spice for anyone's appetite, I'd say.

Loaded up on my Pachy, Shard. She's a tough bird, I'll give her that much; all battle scars and stubborn attitude, but she never lets me down. Once her saddle was on proper and her saddlebags filled with extra supplies (A torch, some back-up armament), it was just a matter of riding out of the camp I'd set up. Four months on the Island had taught me a lot, with one of the main things being that you never go anywhere on foot or alone if you can help it. A whistle called my other companion, my Hunting "Hawk", Huginn. If you've never seen a Dimorphodon, I can best describe it as a cross between a Rat Terrier, a Bat and a small Crocodile. Ugly as all get out, but mean as a sonuvabitch, and great for chasing up small game. She settled on my shoulder and headbutted me in the jaw. "Good morning", Dimo style.

A tug on the reins got my Pachy galloping, the boneheaded beast huffing and bleating with irritation as we set out of the rocky escarpment and rode north by north-east, into the Island interior. Dangerous territory, to say the least. A few days before I'd managed to outrun a Carnotaurus on the high rocky ridge near the jungle. Those bastards can run, but Shard has the size advantage; she can weave between trees as needed. What I was hunting, though, was something less terrifying. Maybe one of the large, pig-like mammals I'd seen rooting around the jungle edge, or a long-crested Parasaur if I got lucky. Enough meat to keep me fed for a good, long while.

The riding was hard, and the day hot. A heat wave had settled in, and there wasn't anything in sight as far as game goes. I spotted a couple of Dodos on the way, but they hardly have enough meat to warrant wasting an arrow. I resigned myself to a foolish choice: Pushing past the ridge, and into the jungle itself.

Have you ever seen dense, dark jungle? Jungle so thick that in daylight it looks like evening? All buzzing, swarming and screaming, full of hissing and sounds from every angle. My leathers chafed and the humidity rose as Shard pushed on up through the scrub and into the overgrowth at the ridge. Huginn shifted on my shoulder, needle-like teeth rasping at some buzzing thing that darted too close.

I hate this jungle. Every time I enter it, I feel like I'm being watched. Every time I go too deep, something goes wrong. The Carno, for instance. Shard doesn't care for it much, either. She's nervous; jumpy. I shrug my shoulder and whistle again, setting Huginn out to see if we can flush anything up. Within moments the little flying reptile has settled on a branch, hissing with annoyance at something I can't make out in the thick growth. Shard shifts from one foot to the other, her tail lashing against the greenery as she starts to front up; domed head down, arms tucked. She's rearing for a fight.

That's when I see it; a gleam of orange-red against a sea of green, almost invisible amid flower blooms a few dozen yards ahead. A crest; feathers the color of blood, higher off the ground than a man's head. It bobs, and I hear the hiss. Utahraptor. One of the alpha predators of the jungles. Big, but not too big; and blinding fast. It's eating something, but I can't make out what. It doesn't see me.

It takes some doing, but I dismount without alerting the big bastard that I'm there. The bow comes next, and a nocked arrow. I hold my breath as I crouch and move through the brush. I'm wearing leather in 100% humidity, and I'm about to try my luck against a real vicious beast. Desperation makes you make terrible choices, but I've made worse since I've been on The Island. I sight up on the crest, then a bit lower. I catch sight of white and orange; an eye. The arrow hisses out with almost no sound at all, at least until I get that satisfying, meaty sound as it pierces the Raptor's jaw just beneath the eye socket. Then the screaming starts.

Not just the Raptor, though; Shard's honking and snorting up a storm. Huginn's hissing and circling, and it's all because I forgot something about Raptors: They're pack hunters. The Raptor I'd just shot was a Bull, and his mate was after Shard from our flank. Another arrow, but not for the female; I had to finish the male. Couldn't leave it wounded, couldn't take my eye off of him. The arrow shaft had snapped off as the snarling saurian pushed through the vines and branches to charge, a gaping maw and razor talons presented for my enjoyment.

I put the arrow down his throat, and managed to sidestep as the body skidded to a halt at my feet. Huginn and Shard were both fending off the other Raptor as best they could, the Pachy headbutting the beast as it lunged and slashed, blood welling on both Dinosaurs while the Dimorphodon swept in for ripping, nipping bites at the wounded predator. I reached for another arrow, and then I heard the third raptor moving in. We'd stumbled into a pack. No time for arrows.

Rushing to Shard, I managed to squeeze in from the side and rip open one of the saddlebags, fishing out my secret weapon: A rusty, beaten up six-shooter, very much akin to a Colt. I'd found the blueprints in the gut of a washed up Megalodon, along with the remains of some poor bastard who'd gotten too brave for his own good. It took more than a week to smith up the parts from raw materials, and another two days for ammunition worth a damn. Ball shot; not even real bullets, but the best you can do with what you have. The gunpowder was the easy part, to be honest.

Two shots, point blank. Shard balked and bellowed, wheeling away from the noise as the female Raptor slumped forward, throat and lung shot. The technology might not be the most impressive, but that nasty piece of work fires big damn slugs. The third Raptor almost seemed to pause, right until I unloaded the remaining four shots into it. It hit the ground in a hissing, bleeding heap, gurgling and kicking the last bits of life out of itself.

The jungle was, for the first time in a long time, silent. Shard and Huginn were the only things making sound at this point. Panting, frothing and bleeding, the Pachy LOOKED worse than she really was; the injuries were relatively minor. Huginn almost seemed pleased with herself as she landed on one of the Raptors and just started eating. Took me about five minutes to breathe and calm down, but once I did I set to cleaning, gutting and dressing the bodies out. Too much meat to waste, and those hides could do me a lot of good.

All in all, the hunt had been a success. Violent, intense, and frantic to be sure, but all in all? Not a bad day. I'd have to make more bullets, of course; and the meat wouldn't keep well in the heat. But I'd preserve what I could with smoke, and the rest I'd toss in the trough for Huginn. I'd give Shard some of those hypnotic berries she likes so much, then dress her wounds. Can't say I didn't appreciate the old girl.

Mounting up after all was said and done, I felt oddly accomplished. We'd gotten away from a bad situation and come out on top; that's where I belong after all. Top of the food chain, with my weapons and my fire and my tools.

Yeah, I'd like to tell myself that. Only problem is The Island doesn't agree with that. The Carno from before came tromping into the clearing, nostrils flared, little eyes searching. He must've heard the shots, smelled the blood, something. Either way, Shard honked with distress and wheeled around. She knew what to do.

Darting between trees, being chased by a supposedly extinct monster with a remarkable level of bloody-minded determination, fresh out of bullets and high on adrenaline, you'd be amazed what you think of. At least, you would be if I hadn't already said my piece.

I really do hate this fucking jungle.

__________________________

I have been playing...A LOT of Ark: Survival Evolved. Seriously, if you like Survival games, Dinosaurs, Building, Crafting, etc., give it a look. I may embellish a bit with some of the minor details, but over all, everything in my little Ark Journal here happened. Fuck Carnotaurus, by the way. That guy's a dick.