After surviving a food scare on the edge of a sun-blown stream, Bjorn Kuoma prayed to the spirits of the forest for guidance. As he wasted away on the edge of his spruce shelter, the bait of his fishing pole finally dipped from its casual bob. After feverishly yanking and reeling for the better part of thirty minutes, four succulent fish lay at his feet.
Half-crawling to the stack of twigs and sticks at the edge of the forest clearing, a humble fire was lit. As the fish roasted, Bjorn passed out from sheer exhaustion! Luckily, something stirred in beyond the forest edge whose sounds awoke him. Grabbing his nearly-burned fish, he feasted on one and decided to abandon his impromptu home for a better place to settle.
Fearing the presence of a wolf or bear, he had no time to rest before his journey. Heavy rain poured overhead in a maelstrom he could not escape.
Surely, this was a sign from the gods that he must depart.
Wading across the southern stream was frightful, but uneventful. After a few minutes walk, he came upon another stream! It seemed his shelter was built near an island between two streams.
No problem, he thought. Once more he trudged unto the running stream, confident he would find glory beyond its shores.
Except, the stream became longer and longer with every step. Further than the limits of the earlier stream, the water deepened and casual wading became desperate swimming. He had come too far to turn back now!
So he swam. And swam. And swam! Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he sighted the opposite bank - safety!
As he neared the shoreline, his eyes blinked time and again - imperceptibly slower each time.
Mere meters from the shoreline, consciousness abated.
...Bjorn drowned, passed out from incredible exhaustion and starvation after finally defeating the obstacles in his path.
(I would have made it, too, if I had risked sleeping on that little island. Damn it!)