Bag

I slept deeply last night, without dreams. I set off early in the morning, convinced that I would get out of this grey, dusty part of the journey, and back to some different terrain. I didn't.

Around midday, I spotted something in the distance. As I got closer, I saw that it was a bag of supplies. It looked like the bag I left behind me days ago. I searched through it, and everything in it confirmed what I thought: it was the same bag. Somehow, my follower managed to track back, get the bag, then get far enough ahead of me to plant it in front. I don't see how Melanie, or whoever it is, can possibly do that, but it's the best explanation. Unless something much worse is happening.

I know which direction I'm headed in. I know the position of the Sun at different times of the day, and I know which side of me the furrow is on. There's no way I've gotten turned around. No way. So it must have been the bag that moved.

I picked the bag up, and as I rode, I used a marker pen to sign my name on everything in it. Then I signed my name all over the bag itself. Then I destroyed the pen, and all the other markers I had. It's possible that someone could replicate what I did on another bag, but I don't think they could do it quickly or very accurately. I think I'd know if it wasn't the original.

It was almost dusk when I set the bag down. I left it on top of a natural rock formation that looks like three squares piled on top of one another. It's distinctive, and the only one of its kind that I've seen along the furrow. If the bag moves again, I'll know what's happening.