Given the current context, his addiction was as bad as ever, with food replacing the alcohol of civilization. It was all he could do not to puke again. But he forced himself not to do so, and thus established at least some difference between what he had been and what he was. Too much of another day had come and gone to undertake a project that would carry him very far from camp, but there should be sufficient time before darkness to trace the route of the continuation of the stream that the beavers had obstructed to create their pond. With the stream to follow, he could not be lost when returning. But having no knowledge of how long the journey would be or what conditions he would meet en route, he put on his jacket and slipped into its pockets the magnifying mirror (though the sun would soon be beyond the proper angle to make fire, he allowed for the possibility that he would be away till next morning) and lengths of different kinds of fishing line, useful for many purposes, and made sure the multifunctional tool was secure in his pants pocket.
