Fiction Books About Survival In The Wilderness นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"Risa, I’m leaving on a business trip tomorrow. Take care of yourself, and the baby. I’ll be back soon." As he spoke, he tapped the tip of my nose in a familiar, intimate gesture. These days, I no longer lashed out at him. The number of servants in the villa had been quietly reduced, but the two guards outside never left their posts. My phone had never been returned to me. I had lost all contact with the outside world. … My room was on the second floor, more than ten meters above the ground. If I jumped from the balcony, even if I survived, I’d be crippled.

EVE’s POV I thought being kicked out of Redhood was the most traumatizing moment of my life, but surviving in the wilderness topped everything. I’d been wandering through the woods for days, moving in circles, my throat burning relentlessly at the unavailability of water. My dress kept sliding off my arm with each step I took. Fatigue burned deep in my bones, a silent plea for my body to slow down and rest—but this was rouge territory. If I sat down for a minute, I wouldn’t last a few hours.

The one who survived was only a mother wolf struggling to live. I learned how to sharpen stones into blades, how to read the direction of the wind, and how to find the best sheltered caves before a blizzard arrived. I turned animal hide and my own hair into rope to build crude traps. Night after night, I lay on freezing rocks while listening to the wind howl like ghosts. In the end, I survived. I came to a border town and opened a small floral boutique. "The story is over," I said softly. I stood up.

The first three days of my journey north were a blur of hunger, exhaustion, and constant vigilance. I learned quickly that the wilderness didn’t care about my grand destiny or royal bloodline. It only cared about survival, and I was woefully unprepared for it despite Sarah’s generous supplies. The dried meat ran out faster than I’d expected. The water bottles needed constant refilling from questionable streams that left my stomach cramping. And every night, I heard howls in the distance: rogues, wild animals, or worse.

The risks were immense, but survival demanded we faced them. Each scavenging run was a gamble, a desperate bid to acquire the resources we needed to survive another day. We ventured out in small groups, relying on our collective knowledge and experience to navigate the treacherous landscape. We sought out scraps of food, anything edible amidst the ruins. We collected anything that could be repurposed, from metal scraps for repairs to cloth for makeshift clothing. We even scavenged for scraps of books, snippets of knowledge in a world where learning was a luxury.

For a long moment, I just stood there—cloak pulled tight, breath trembling in the icy air, waiting for something in me to break loud enough to echo. Nothing did. So I stepped forward. The wastelands swallowed the sound of my footsteps immediately. No birds. No branches. No life. Just wind, dry and sharp as shattered bone, hissing across a dead horizon. Stories said exiled wolves survived out here. Stories said they built shelters in the ravines, hunted the long plains, carved out small pockets of existence. Stories said they lived. I clung to that as I walked. Because if they lived, maybe I could too.

When he was hungry, he ate anything that wasn't zombie flesh, such as tree bark, grass roots, the occasional scraps of edible food he managed to scavenge, and animals, when he was lucky enough to catch one. The world was terrible now, but no matter how bad it got, it still wasn't as hopeless as a true famine. People didn't starve to death that easily. And so, with nothing but stubborn determination and unbelievable luck, Josh somehow survived for months in the wasteland after leaving West Sea Base and finally made it all the way to Haylight League. "How's Maisie? Is she okay?" Josh stared at Hayley with uncontrollable urgency, his eyes full of hope. "Where's our side piece?" Hayley asked ins

The cryptic references to the prophecy, the implications of hidden dangers, these only amplified the unsettling uncertainty about the future. As days bled into nights, the wilderness became her teacher, her adversary, her confidante. She learned to track her prey, to identify edible plants, to find shelter from the elements. She honed her survival skills to a razor’s edge, relying on instinct and grit to navigate the treacherous terrain. The journey was not just a physical one; it was a spiritual odyssey, a relentless stripping away of the false sense of security and privilege she’d known in the Silvermoon Pack.

My first instinct was to search for new plant specimens, but Malcolm's orders were clear; I was to stay inside, hidden from Rebecca or anyone else who might be looking to sabotage or hurt me. Pacing the room, I wore a path into the rug, my thoughts a frantic, unproductive whirl. Just as the mental fog grew too thick, I remembered the book of wilderness lore that Iona owned. I rushed to my suitcase, rummaging through it until my fingers closed around the familiar, worn leather cover. Settling back onto the bed, I opened it with a sense of reverence. Perhaps within these pages, I could find not just strategies for survival, but a small measure of the calm I desperately needed to think.