Essentials
Title: Essentials
Author: TalliW
Characters: Helen Cutter
Rating: K
Wordcount: 1054
Disclaimer: Primeval is the property of Impossible Pictures. I write just for fun.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Fredbassett for beta-reading.
Summary: Helen can live without modern items. But does she really want to?
AN: The story was inspired by lsellersfic's great meta about the content of Helen Cutter's backback.
With a faint curse, Helen pulled the first aid kit out of her backpack. Although she had used it only in absolute emergencies the contents had dwindled at an alarming rate. Every day was a fight for food, water or shelter.
Helen pressed the gauze compress onto the wound on her thigh. To avoid infection she'd had to cut deep. Now the odour of fresh blood filled the air.
From above, Helen heard the cry of the Pteranodon that had attacked her. It was still circling the air, following its natural instinct to protect its nest of eggs. For the moment she had fended it off but the peace wouldn't last long.
Helen gritted her teeth and limped away to the safety of the ledge she had camped under the previous night. It didn’t offer as much protection as the cave she had occupied in the Permian but at least it shielded her against attacks from above and from behind.
Making sure she was well stocked up on fuel for the campfire, Helen sat down on the bedrock and started to prepare her meal. She had to keep up her strength. The smell of her blood would soon attract predators. And not all of them would be kept at bay by the campfire, barely visible in the bright midday sun.
Her stomach filled with the delicious fried egg, Helen looked fondly at the old iron pan she considered her second most precious possession. The small camping pan had been her mother's favourite and she had taken it on her trip to the Forest of Dean more for sentimental reasons than out of necessity. It brought back good memories of evenings around a campfire with a lot of laughter, roasted fish and chocolate bars at a time when she was still young enough to believe her parents would always be around.
Now the pan was Helen's only cooking utensil and one of the few things that connected her to her parents. Other people had photo albums. She had an old camping pan and her father's large Bowie knife, another item that had withstood the fire that had consumed her parent's home.
After cleaning the pan carefully with sand, Helen inspected her wound. The bleeding had finally stopped and the flesh was beginning to scab over. She’d always had a good immune system that made wounds heal fast. Nevertheless the injury would slow her down for the next days, a handicap that could get her killed in the deadly environment of the Cretaceous.
Helen hadn't intended to leave again so soon but considering the circumstances it was probably wise to move to a less dangerous time period.
Suddenly a sharp cramp invaded Helen's middle, bringing to mind that she was still a healthy, fertile woman.
Due to stress and poor nutrition, her cycle had been highly irregular in the last years so she hadn't bothered to stock up on feminine hygiene products the last time she had been back to civilisation. But now it seemed a shopping trip was in order. Her knife showed severe signs of wear after eight years of intensive use and she needed a new bra, not forgetting the almost empty first aid kit. And while she was at it, she could take a look at the new high-tech camping products that had been invented lately. A lightweight, small volume, foldable, nylon sleeping bag would come in handy if she had to cross an Ice Age again and a LED headtorch would leave her hands free for important tasks in the night or in the darkness of a cave.
Helen gazed at the gently rolling hills and valleys of the prehistoric landscape, trying to memorise as much as possible of the beautiful, unpeopled scenery. Down in the valley, a herd of iguanodons made its way to the next water hole, followed by a neovenator who waited for the opportunity to attack a straggler. This was nature as it should be. Natural selection of the fittest.
She might be drawn to the luxury of the modern world with its hot showers, soft beds and easy available food at times but she knew she would always return to a world that challenged her every day and forced her to go to the limits of her capacity over and over again. The prehistoric world was a world for fighters and explorers, a place for people like her.
Without a backward glance, Helen stepped through the anomaly that would lead her straight into the twenty-first century. There was no telling how much time she would have to spend in the modern world to set her plans in motion but Helen was sure she wouldn't stay away from home for long.
Author: TalliW
Characters: Helen Cutter
Rating: K
Wordcount: 1054
Disclaimer: Primeval is the property of Impossible Pictures. I write just for fun.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Fredbassett for beta-reading.
Summary: Helen can live without modern items. But does she really want to?
AN: The story was inspired by lsellersfic's great meta about the content of Helen Cutter's backback.
With a faint curse, Helen pulled the first aid kit out of her backpack. Although she had used it only in absolute emergencies the contents had dwindled at an alarming rate. Every day was a fight for food, water or shelter.
Helen pressed the gauze compress onto the wound on her thigh. To avoid infection she'd had to cut deep. Now the odour of fresh blood filled the air.
From above, Helen heard the cry of the Pteranodon that had attacked her. It was still circling the air, following its natural instinct to protect its nest of eggs. For the moment she had fended it off but the peace wouldn't last long.
Helen gritted her teeth and limped away to the safety of the ledge she had camped under the previous night. It didn’t offer as much protection as the cave she had occupied in the Permian but at least it shielded her against attacks from above and from behind.
Making sure she was well stocked up on fuel for the campfire, Helen sat down on the bedrock and started to prepare her meal. She had to keep up her strength. The smell of her blood would soon attract predators. And not all of them would be kept at bay by the campfire, barely visible in the bright midday sun.
Her stomach filled with the delicious fried egg, Helen looked fondly at the old iron pan she considered her second most precious possession. The small camping pan had been her mother's favourite and she had taken it on her trip to the Forest of Dean more for sentimental reasons than out of necessity. It brought back good memories of evenings around a campfire with a lot of laughter, roasted fish and chocolate bars at a time when she was still young enough to believe her parents would always be around.
Now the pan was Helen's only cooking utensil and one of the few things that connected her to her parents. Other people had photo albums. She had an old camping pan and her father's large Bowie knife, another item that had withstood the fire that had consumed her parent's home.
After cleaning the pan carefully with sand, Helen inspected her wound. The bleeding had finally stopped and the flesh was beginning to scab over. She’d always had a good immune system that made wounds heal fast. Nevertheless the injury would slow her down for the next days, a handicap that could get her killed in the deadly environment of the Cretaceous.
Helen hadn't intended to leave again so soon but considering the circumstances it was probably wise to move to a less dangerous time period.
Suddenly a sharp cramp invaded Helen's middle, bringing to mind that she was still a healthy, fertile woman.
Due to stress and poor nutrition, her cycle had been highly irregular in the last years so she hadn't bothered to stock up on feminine hygiene products the last time she had been back to civilisation. But now it seemed a shopping trip was in order. Her knife showed severe signs of wear after eight years of intensive use and she needed a new bra, not forgetting the almost empty first aid kit. And while she was at it, she could take a look at the new high-tech camping products that had been invented lately. A lightweight, small volume, foldable, nylon sleeping bag would come in handy if she had to cross an Ice Age again and a LED headtorch would leave her hands free for important tasks in the night or in the darkness of a cave.
Helen gazed at the gently rolling hills and valleys of the prehistoric landscape, trying to memorise as much as possible of the beautiful, unpeopled scenery. Down in the valley, a herd of iguanodons made its way to the next water hole, followed by a neovenator who waited for the opportunity to attack a straggler. This was nature as it should be. Natural selection of the fittest.
She might be drawn to the luxury of the modern world with its hot showers, soft beds and easy available food at times but she knew she would always return to a world that challenged her every day and forced her to go to the limits of her capacity over and over again. The prehistoric world was a world for fighters and explorers, a place for people like her.
Without a backward glance, Helen stepped through the anomaly that would lead her straight into the twenty-first century. There was no telling how much time she would have to spend in the modern world to set her plans in motion but Helen was sure she wouldn't stay away from home for long.