@Ralph, I can’t submit stickfigs anymore, at least not right now. It says “no apps can do this” or whatever, and it started happening when I downloaded the update, tho I don’t think it had anything to do with it. What’s up?

this is a part of a book I’m writing. Hope you like it!

It was about seven o’clock when the sun first began to set. It had raised 2 degrees since his fail to find a match, which was a good sign. Jack felt he wouldn’t need to get a source of warmth, (the sound of Marco saying “warms” in his accent). He thought he would be just fine without a fire or whatever. It’s just about time to make something to sleep on.
He looked around for some palm leaves, and after finding some put them into a pile.

He thought, looking down at his amazing work of art (a pile of leaves with a big clump of moss as a pillow) that this would be a very comfortable bed indeed. So he tried it out. He dropped rather hard onto his leaves and lay his head softly on the mossy pillow. It was for the most part comfortable. The edges of the leaves were a bit scratchy, and the pillow had a small rock here and there, but it would do; if it wasn’t cold, that is.
It was now dark, and the temperature had dropped an amazing amount. As he walk through the cold air, Jack could see his breath as his heavy breathing became heavier still. He looked up at the moon, how bright it was, how beautiful it was, how it resembled the overlook of a nice cup of hot tea.
He was looking back down when he spotted a small trail of smoke over the tops of the trees. He was still walking, forgetting his cold, his misery, his cold and miserable sadness, forgetting the fact that he had seen a tree in front of him and running right into it. This took him out of his trance, and after regaining his senses started running as fast as he could toward the trail of smoke.
It was about five minutes of running when, out of breath and coughing a little, made it to the house. It turned out to be a small cabin made of stacked up logs. It looked like a massive castle to Jack, made of gold with an amazing, filthy, wobbly wooden door.
He knocked on the door, waiting for a knight in shining armor to come pull him the collar of his shirt and throw him into a dungeon.