DAY ELEVEN: All is well, relatively speaking, here at camp. Some stormy weather and wet conditions drove us out of the forest, and we've since set up in a hotter, dryer climate atop what appears to be a completely barren desert mesa. The heat is stifling and resources are scarce, and we're forced to make do with whatever we can find.
I sense a wave of boredom overtaking the troops, but spirits are high for the most part. Derrick Brown seems the most beset by the arid conditions, and it's hard to blame him. Andy Rautins went on a foraging excursion and returned with some meager but much-appreciated rations. Landry Fields, for his part, was able to contribute some foodstuffs he'd acquired at a previous juncture, although he keeps repeating "just Gimel delight and pasta Joe" to the point that it's getting obnoxious, if not a little unsettling. Amar'e Stoudemire, being the most physically fit of the group, made a day-long journey back to civilization and returned with good news from the women's soccer front, though I doubt that does much to help our case. Those that aren't directly contributing to the cause have at least conjured forms of diversion. Anthony Carter fashioned an ocarina out of a found wolf skull, and has been entertaining us with remarkably accurate New Edition covers. Toney Douglas started a private tumbleweed collection and is trying to open a distribution business. Renaldo Balkman married a skink.
No one really knows how long we'll stay in the desert, or where we'll go if we leave. We're taking it a day at a time, though, remaining hopeful all the while. I do worry that hope is limited, and that too long an absence from the league will drive these men to the brink of delirium. Any sign of progress, or even an attempt at progress, would mean quite a bit.
Previously: Day One