5 Saun 719
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
When Dan reached the edge of the river, he slid down off Cloud, ran the stirrups up out of her way, slackened the girth, and watered both of them before he tethered her and Smoke where they could graze in comfort and safety. Neither of the sturdy grey ponies needed much encouragement to start munching on the greener grass of the river bank, as opposed to the parched grass of the land further away. He retrieved his fishing gear, including his line and his fish trap, from the pack saddle that Smoke wore, and set them down on the bank beside him. Then he kicked off his boots, rolled up the legs of his patched trousers, and went to see if he could find a good place to set up his fish trap for a few days.
There was a hollow against the bank that looked promising, but first, he decided, he needed something to bait the trap with - not to mention something he could eat today. A tickled or angled fish would solve both problems, and he eased down to lie flat on his front on the bank, staring into the water. His sleeveless hide vest left his arms bare to the shoulder in the warm Saun air, and his sun-darkened skin made the assorted scars on them stand out pale as fine lace.
A small trout settled in the hollow he had picked out for his trap, its fins flickering lightly to hold it against the current. Dan slipped his bare arm very slowly into the water behind it to minimise any ripples that might scare it away, and waved his fingers gently like weeds swaying in the current. It startled anyway, and he froze where he lay, the water cool despite the heat of the trial. He hardly dared breathe until it settled again. Once it did, he drifted his waving fingers up under the fish, with the lightest brushes he could manage, until he sensed the movement of the gills. Then he struck, hooking his fingers into the gill slits and flinging the fish up onto the bank with an almost convulsive swing of his arm. He whipped round, pulling the knife from his rough rope belt to kill it before it could thrash its way back into the water. He smacked it hard across the head with the pommel, then a second time for good measure.
Switching his grip to the hilt, he thrust the blade up through the trout's jaw, and then sliced down along the belly. He cleaned and sheathed the knife, then hooked two fingers through the hole in the jaw and pulled hard. The innards of the fish came out in a single messy tangle, attached to the jaw bone. He tore off a bit of the guts and used it to bait his fishhook, getting it securely in place on the second attempt. He rinsed his hands in the river and splashed water on his hot face before he scooped up a bit to drink. It was important not to let the sun bake you so dry you died, he knew that much, but at the same time, he didn't want to be weighted down with a belly full of water if something happened and he had to move in a hurry.
Once he was done with that, he glanced over at the ponies to check they were fine, and climbed to his feet. It took him several tries before he finally managed to get his cast to go where he wanted it, and then he settled down to wait. When he was done fishing in other ways, he would bait and set the fish trap, but for now his fish and its guts lay in the grass behind him.
The shadows had moved round a bit, but it wasn't that long before something long and dark surged out from the clustering plants by the far bank and latched onto the bait and hook. The rod bowed as the fish took off and Dan stumbled a few steps and almost fell in the river after it before he managed to brace himself and haul back. The fish fought being reeled in, leaping and lunging, and then to Dan's dismay, his line snapped and the fish was gone, taking a precious fishhook with it. Dan hissed on instinct, like an affronted cat, and his mouth curled in a snarl as he brought the remains of the line in and packed it away to mend later. Losing one fishhook was bad enough. He wasn't going to risk another if that monster of a fish was still around. It had to be a good two feet long, at least!
Instead, he took his spear in hand. It wasn't ideal for fishing. It would have been better if it had a second point jutting beside the first or a gaff running back down the shaft, but it was better than nothing. He moved the ponies off the grass they had cleared and onto a new patch, then went back to the river and waded carefully into the shallows. The skewed view of his own feet reminded him that things in water were rarely where they appeared to be, He made a number of test jabs, slowly working out how he needed to adjust his aim to account for the distortion of the water in order to actually hit what and where he wanted to hit. It worked best when he aimed a little under where the image of the target appeared to be.
At last, he was satisfied with his tries, and simply stood still, water swirling around his knees, Saun heat hammering on his head and arms, spear poised and as ready as it was ever going to be. The little things took heart first. Water stakers skimmed past him. Something tickly crawled over his foot and Dan had to grit his teeth in order not to flinch and give himself away. It felt as if he stood there forever, but finally, the big fish decided to come and investigate this new patch of shade better known as legs. Dan watched it nose warily past the crook of his left knee, but held his blow, waiting for it to move enough that he wasn't at risk of stabbing his own leg if he missed the fish. He rather thought it was a pike, which meant there would be, proportionally, a lot of bones in it. The sheer size, however, meant a lot of meat, even if it was extra bony.
Round the back of his leg, tickling as it went so that he had to grit his teeth and force himself to stay still, then weaving in between his knees until finally, finally, it emerged in front of him and he could get a better look and chance to aim. As long as his arm and as thick as his leg, darker on top and lighter below, it moved almost lazily through the water. Dan took a deep breath, reminded himself of his aiming lessons, and stabbed down. Blood oozed, clouding the water, and a suddenly thrashing tail smacked hard against his ankle. His foot slipped in the silt under the weight of the blow and he flung himself forward beside the shaft of his spear. If he was going to fall anyway, it was perhaps best that he fall on the fish where he could use his own hands and weight to pin it down, or wrestle it up onto the bank.
He was instantly soaked, his clothes a sodden weight dragging him down, and while the fish was injured, he hadn't struck it cleanly enough to kill it. It writhed against him, fighting to escape, and his hands slithered helplessly over fins and scales without being able to find a firm enough grip. Then, like when he was tickling the trout earlier, he felt the movement of the gills against his fingers. He shoved his hands inwards hurriedly - too hurriedly - and the fish lurched sideways as he managed to hook his fingers into the gills on one side but not the other. His spear came loose at the movement, and came down, smacking against his back and the nape of his neck, cushioned only a little by the water. Dan held his breath and hung on, fumbling with his free hand until he got that too hooked into the gills, and could rear back on his knees, half hugging the fish and then stagger out of the water with it in his arms. It thrashed harder as he did so, of course, but he was able to drop it on the parched, grazed short, grass, so that he could finish it off quickly. It was magnificent! It would keep him fed for days - or rather, he could dry a lot of it and it would provide that much extra food for the cold cycle. He allowed himself that moment of delight and triumph, and then shook himself back into action with a grin. He wasn't done with the work. He never was, out here. There was still his spear to retrieve, and the fish trap to set, and the fish itself needed cleaning, and he had fuel to gather, and greens to supplement his catch if he could find them, and...
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
When Dan reached the edge of the river, he slid down off Cloud, ran the stirrups up out of her way, slackened the girth, and watered both of them before he tethered her and Smoke where they could graze in comfort and safety. Neither of the sturdy grey ponies needed much encouragement to start munching on the greener grass of the river bank, as opposed to the parched grass of the land further away. He retrieved his fishing gear, including his line and his fish trap, from the pack saddle that Smoke wore, and set them down on the bank beside him. Then he kicked off his boots, rolled up the legs of his patched trousers, and went to see if he could find a good place to set up his fish trap for a few days.
There was a hollow against the bank that looked promising, but first, he decided, he needed something to bait the trap with - not to mention something he could eat today. A tickled or angled fish would solve both problems, and he eased down to lie flat on his front on the bank, staring into the water. His sleeveless hide vest left his arms bare to the shoulder in the warm Saun air, and his sun-darkened skin made the assorted scars on them stand out pale as fine lace.
A small trout settled in the hollow he had picked out for his trap, its fins flickering lightly to hold it against the current. Dan slipped his bare arm very slowly into the water behind it to minimise any ripples that might scare it away, and waved his fingers gently like weeds swaying in the current. It startled anyway, and he froze where he lay, the water cool despite the heat of the trial. He hardly dared breathe until it settled again. Once it did, he drifted his waving fingers up under the fish, with the lightest brushes he could manage, until he sensed the movement of the gills. Then he struck, hooking his fingers into the gill slits and flinging the fish up onto the bank with an almost convulsive swing of his arm. He whipped round, pulling the knife from his rough rope belt to kill it before it could thrash its way back into the water. He smacked it hard across the head with the pommel, then a second time for good measure.
Switching his grip to the hilt, he thrust the blade up through the trout's jaw, and then sliced down along the belly. He cleaned and sheathed the knife, then hooked two fingers through the hole in the jaw and pulled hard. The innards of the fish came out in a single messy tangle, attached to the jaw bone. He tore off a bit of the guts and used it to bait his fishhook, getting it securely in place on the second attempt. He rinsed his hands in the river and splashed water on his hot face before he scooped up a bit to drink. It was important not to let the sun bake you so dry you died, he knew that much, but at the same time, he didn't want to be weighted down with a belly full of water if something happened and he had to move in a hurry.
Once he was done with that, he glanced over at the ponies to check they were fine, and climbed to his feet. It took him several tries before he finally managed to get his cast to go where he wanted it, and then he settled down to wait. When he was done fishing in other ways, he would bait and set the fish trap, but for now his fish and its guts lay in the grass behind him.
The shadows had moved round a bit, but it wasn't that long before something long and dark surged out from the clustering plants by the far bank and latched onto the bait and hook. The rod bowed as the fish took off and Dan stumbled a few steps and almost fell in the river after it before he managed to brace himself and haul back. The fish fought being reeled in, leaping and lunging, and then to Dan's dismay, his line snapped and the fish was gone, taking a precious fishhook with it. Dan hissed on instinct, like an affronted cat, and his mouth curled in a snarl as he brought the remains of the line in and packed it away to mend later. Losing one fishhook was bad enough. He wasn't going to risk another if that monster of a fish was still around. It had to be a good two feet long, at least!
Instead, he took his spear in hand. It wasn't ideal for fishing. It would have been better if it had a second point jutting beside the first or a gaff running back down the shaft, but it was better than nothing. He moved the ponies off the grass they had cleared and onto a new patch, then went back to the river and waded carefully into the shallows. The skewed view of his own feet reminded him that things in water were rarely where they appeared to be, He made a number of test jabs, slowly working out how he needed to adjust his aim to account for the distortion of the water in order to actually hit what and where he wanted to hit. It worked best when he aimed a little under where the image of the target appeared to be.
At last, he was satisfied with his tries, and simply stood still, water swirling around his knees, Saun heat hammering on his head and arms, spear poised and as ready as it was ever going to be. The little things took heart first. Water stakers skimmed past him. Something tickly crawled over his foot and Dan had to grit his teeth in order not to flinch and give himself away. It felt as if he stood there forever, but finally, the big fish decided to come and investigate this new patch of shade better known as legs. Dan watched it nose warily past the crook of his left knee, but held his blow, waiting for it to move enough that he wasn't at risk of stabbing his own leg if he missed the fish. He rather thought it was a pike, which meant there would be, proportionally, a lot of bones in it. The sheer size, however, meant a lot of meat, even if it was extra bony.
Round the back of his leg, tickling as it went so that he had to grit his teeth and force himself to stay still, then weaving in between his knees until finally, finally, it emerged in front of him and he could get a better look and chance to aim. As long as his arm and as thick as his leg, darker on top and lighter below, it moved almost lazily through the water. Dan took a deep breath, reminded himself of his aiming lessons, and stabbed down. Blood oozed, clouding the water, and a suddenly thrashing tail smacked hard against his ankle. His foot slipped in the silt under the weight of the blow and he flung himself forward beside the shaft of his spear. If he was going to fall anyway, it was perhaps best that he fall on the fish where he could use his own hands and weight to pin it down, or wrestle it up onto the bank.
He was instantly soaked, his clothes a sodden weight dragging him down, and while the fish was injured, he hadn't struck it cleanly enough to kill it. It writhed against him, fighting to escape, and his hands slithered helplessly over fins and scales without being able to find a firm enough grip. Then, like when he was tickling the trout earlier, he felt the movement of the gills against his fingers. He shoved his hands inwards hurriedly - too hurriedly - and the fish lurched sideways as he managed to hook his fingers into the gills on one side but not the other. His spear came loose at the movement, and came down, smacking against his back and the nape of his neck, cushioned only a little by the water. Dan held his breath and hung on, fumbling with his free hand until he got that too hooked into the gills, and could rear back on his knees, half hugging the fish and then stagger out of the water with it in his arms. It thrashed harder as he did so, of course, but he was able to drop it on the parched, grazed short, grass, so that he could finish it off quickly. It was magnificent! It would keep him fed for days - or rather, he could dry a lot of it and it would provide that much extra food for the cold cycle. He allowed himself that moment of delight and triumph, and then shook himself back into action with a grin. He wasn't done with the work. He never was, out here. There was still his spear to retrieve, and the fish trap to set, and the fish itself needed cleaning, and he had fuel to gather, and greens to supplement his catch if he could find them, and...
