You open your eyes to a stony bank at the edge of a forest. You do not remember where you were ten seconds ago, or why you are here, or why the pounding in your head is like a fog with a pulse the strength of a giant's heart, but these things will come in time. You know this. You trust in this.
The air is fresh, the breeze warm. Your balance is imperfect, but you haven't fallen yet, and the sun rising has yet to blind you entirely. You sense something of a new beginning in the air - or maybe you're waxing more poetic than you need to about the fact that your memory is hazy.
Your first moves are laid out in your mind like a checklist left after a drunken night, except the checklist is coherent and not covered in a mystery stain that smells like regret.
The checklist is, approximately, as follows:
Obtain wood.
Make tools.
Make yourself a bed, or find one.
???
Don't die, if you can help it.
The fog over your reasoning ability begins to clear.
You realize you are in a tree.
Well. That makes the first step easy, doesn't it? And it explains the shaky balance.
You make your way down the tree by disassembling it, bit by bit, log by log. The tree is tall, and the process is agonizingly slow. You quickly begin to understand the need for tools so early on.
Your feet finally touch the stable ground, and you get to work. It takes some fiddling, but you're able to persuade one of the logs into a shape resembling a worktable, and a few more into an axe. It doesn't look too sturdy, but it'll chop logs better than your bare hands. Your hands are covered in splinters by the end, and a little exploration sounds like a damn good idea.
You take off running into the forest.
