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would provide me with the energy to keep warm.  Rolling my head to my right, I scanned the scene to see what I was up against, but my eyes failed to locate any attackers.  The one that had been chewing on my arm had departed after I vomited in its face.  The thought of it stumbling around and becoming something else’s dinner made me smile – a fitting end to the food chain, in my eyes.  I did not feel so superior at that moment. 
    My right hand throbbed.  Upon raising it, the memory of losing its digits replayed.  The blood still oozed, but at least clotted.  It was all that I could do not to pass out again when I realized my leg was still in the stream.  At least the cold kept the muscle tight, so bleeding was minimal now.  My attempt to move caused shooting pain.  My tongue got in the way of crying out and I bit down hard, adding insult to injury.  My right forearm was missing a fair amount of flesh, further complicating my trauma.  I was a mess.
    As I struggled to move, funny sounds came from my mouth, grunts and half cries of pain.  The noises were irregular and sounded like a drunken ape giving birth to a rhinoceros.  I had to laugh a little, and forced myself to sit up and take stock of my leg.  The bone was visible in several places where the quadriceps was missing.  The wound still bled, but barely.  The ice cold water in the stream had kept me from bleeding out.  For this, I was grateful.
    My senses were coming back faster than I wanted, and a slight panic hit me for a few seconds while I assessed my situation.  My shirt was still lying there.  I grabbed it and tried to tear it in half with my damaged left hand.  A growl escaped my lips.  Clouded thoughts hampered my work as the blood started to flow again.  I only had a few minutes to find a sharp rock before I would bleed out. 
    Holding the shirt in my teeth and under my good arm, I worked hard to tear the material.  The task was still rough.  It took a few seconds to start, but once it did, the fabric, along with the skin on my chest in a few places, sliced easily.  I finally used my teeth and tore it the rest of the way.  Now for the fun part!  
    Trying to wrap my leg up one handed was a comedy act.  It took me a few tries to secure my leg so the strips stay tied by themselves.  Thinking back to my days in CPR class, I wished I had paid closer attention.  I knew this was going to hurt like hell and my mind prepared for what was about to be done.  I pulled as hard as I could.  My head swam, and all went dark.
     
    *     *     *
     
    Light again. 
    My eyes popped open.  The cold flow of the river stirred me awake.  My body was shaking uncontrollably and felt incredibly numb.  My muscles were stiff beyond fluid motion.  Death should have taken me then in its icy embrace.  How I survived was beyond me.  Forcing myself to sit up, I found that movement came a little easier.  My morale lifted slightly.  It took me a few tries and lots of rolling back and forth to get my good leg under me, and an explosion of pain was my reward; that, however, did not deter my motivation to live.  Fire was needed and fast.
    Several seconds passed with attempts to regain my balance resulting in falls each time.  Once up, limping made me wince with every step as I made my way back to camp.  All my items remained there at the river’s edge, including my other clothes and the cleaning supplies.  Everything became irrelevant at that point.  The pain was returning in full force with every movement, and the intensity increased with every footfall.  My body kept shivering.  With movement, I warmed up slightly but the temperature continued to drop.  The battle was slowly being lost.
    The sun gave me a small measure of warmth and was the saving grace in the journey back to camp, located over at least one hill as the crow flies.  Time was running out.  I could not slow down.  Climbing over even a small hill would prove troublesome