Three
One of the monoliths not far from my camp is fragmented; broken at an angle at about waist-height. If I strike it with a rock in a particular way, the flakes that break off are crude (yet remarkably sharp, as one of my poor fingers found out) blades.
The stems of the grass I have gathered form a thin, strong cord when twisted together. I cut a section of plastic from the raft, and used the cord to fashion it into a drawstring pouch. Now that I can carry a good supply of food with me, I feel a bit more confident in exploring further afield from my camp.
I headed further inland from the beach, and stumbled upon the edge of… Perhaps a forest? That is the only thing I could think to call it.
The trunks of the trees are dark green, and the largest of them are so wide that I would not be able to stretch my arms all around them if I were to pull them into an embrace. I would not like to do this, however. The bark is rough and mildly spined; not entirely unlike the texture of pineapple skin.
They are devoid of branches at anything close to ground-level. The canopies are tall and umbellate, and provide shade in such a way as to dapple the floor below. When I picked a fallen brown frond from the ground, I found it tough and leathery, and very dry. A potential future source of fuel?
The ground in the forest is dry, with a pleasing hollow springiness. The top layer of earth is too loose to hold tracks, and I found no trace of animal existence, so I am still yet to know whether or not I am alone.
The nights are long and dark here, but the weather is pleasant. The wounds of my descent are starting to heal. This is far from the worst place I could be right now.