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open, inhaling and swallowing light.
    So.  I woke up, still feeling really damn good, curled in the centre of the amphitheatre.  No hangover.  It was mid-morning, sunny.  My mouth was dry and the arm I was lying on had pins and needles, but otherwise just Cass, feeling amazed at what had happened.
    The amphitheatre is cat central.  Their home base, just as the tower's mine.  There's dozens of them, all slinky, big-eared, mostly grey tabby but a sprinkle of other colours.  No fluffy Persian types here.  Some really cute kittens, but the whole lot so feral and wild I wouldn't dare try and pick one up.  I got myself out of their territory as quickly as I could, and then because I was feeling energetic I walked back along the lake to a stream I'd passed, and watched otters.  It's hard to focus on practical plans when you've spent the night drinking the moon. 
    Nothing about the moon
    Before my attempt at fire, I collected another pack of wool and hunted around for something big and metal which didn't look like it would instantly fall to pieces.  I ended up with this flat blue and green bowl which was hell to move since I could only just lift it, and had to put it down every ten steps.  I didn't want to risk breaking it by trying to roll it and don't know how it will hold up to having a fire built around it.  I'm setting the fire up down on the lake's edge, for ease of access to water.
    I wish I knew how to make soap, so I could clean up properly.  Even though I wash every day, there's a layer of greasy grime all over me, and the less said about my hair the better.  If I can get the fire started, I'll at least have hot water to wash in, before I add the wool.  The IF is the big problem here.  I tried magnifying sunlight with bits of glass, but either the glass isn't clear enough or the sunlight's not strong enough.  I'm having a rest right now after taking up the stick rubbing challenge.  I can make the sticks heat up, but all I end up with is hot sticks and very tired arms.  I shredded a page of history notes before I started, but I'm going to tear it all up smaller and try again. 
    Department of Acquisitions
    So I have a fire.  I'm not altogether sure what to do to stop it from going out overnight, or if it rains.  It made me realise that these houses don't have chimneys or fireplaces.  My wool-boiling went along merrily, and I now have a lot of very wet wool, and a little scummy yellow stuff I ladled off the top.  I've spread the wool out to dry.
    While it was cooking I made a start on more mats.  I want to cover both the floor and the windows.  I'm not sure what to do with the top of the stair to the roof.  There would have been something which sealed it nicely before, but I don't think I can make a waterproof mat.
    I've never been particularly great at arts and crafts.  Not useless, but I'm nothing close to as good as Mum.  I'm too impatient.  I start out with neatish little stitches, then they get bigger and untidier.  But I'm going to make myself a clean wool nest and a blanket and I don't care if it's the ugliest thing around.  And I'll fix up my room, and explore this town and get everything useful I can find.
    And then–?
    My long term options really suck the life out of any feel-good attempt. 
    Monday, December 3
    The Sad Ignorance of Modern Youth
    I've seen people shear sheep on TV.  And I've seen a picture of a spinning wheel.  I know a spindle must be pointy because princesses can prick their fingers on them.  The mechanics of how wool goes from fleece to thread, though, is something else.  And what is carding?  When does it happen?
    Anyway, turning all the wool into thread and then trying to weave with it is just beyond me.  It would take a century even if I knew what to do.  Making a big pile of clean wool so I have something soft to sleep on is part of the plan, but I'm also going to have a shot at making a felt blanket.  Of course, felt-making was another thing no-one