52 Ymiden 721
Dan rummaged through his cart until he found his fish trap, then hauled it out, bracing his muscles against the weight of the stones inside, and carried it out to where it could be more easily inspected. A good handful of the people here seemed to eager to poke and probe it, to the point that he had to bat away a few hands that would have taken it apart to see how it worked, though judging by the volume of the discussion (that rose like a flock of startled pigeons clattering their wings as they took off) they weren't agreeing on much. He wasn't quite sure why it might raise such a fuss. The trap was simple enough, made from wickerwork for flexibility and easy movement, and weighted with river stones so that it sank rather than floated when he put it in the water. It caught his dinner - and often extra to preserve for the cold seasons - on a regular basis. It was sturdy, made with easily found material, and could be replaced without fuss when it wore out. Where was the problem?
"Enough!" he signed emphatically, but they were so busy making a racket of their own, that they didn't respond to his silent signs. Dan's mouth tightened, pushing away the old hurt that rose up in response and considered how he might, actually, get their attention. At last, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and shrill, the way he did to call his ponies to him. There was a sudden, spreading, silence.
"Patience. I'll show you," he told them in sign, adding one of the few spoken phrases he knew. Showme. Emily peeled herself out of the main cluster and began, he hoped, to translate that. She did, at least, know and speak Common Sign, and she knew he had been planning to teach this, as best he could. He also hoped that these people were only like pigeons in their noise level and habit of flocking together, because pigeons were notoriously foolish and prone to blundering into situations. That made them easy to hunt, but not nearly so easy if you needed them to learn from it. "I said I would."
He spread out the supple withys he had cut from the willow tree the trial before, when Emily and he had gone exploring, and some stiffer, straighter sticks that he had taken from the firewood pile. "Watch. Copy if you wish."
He made a hoop from one of the withys, tying the ends together with a sturdy bit of cord and showed it to them, both on its own and laid against the circular opening of his own fish trap so that they knew where it went, giving them the time and space to do the same if they wanted. Emily did, at least, and a few others.
He then took seven straight sticks. The precise number wasn't as important as the fact that there were an odd number of them. Having an odd number meant that you naturally ended up alternating which side of the stick the wicker went, and that made it stronger and likely to last longer. He tied the sticks together at one end, and then spread the other ends out around the hoop so that he had a cone. He showed it to the settlers, tilting it this way and that so that they could see it from all angles, and then watched as they did it. He might not be able to talk directly to most of them, but he could spot if and when they went wrong and correct them before the mistake became a huge problem. He could try to, anyway, but they were spread out enough that he couldn't see all of them at once. He had to keep moving to check everyone, poking his nose in here and there like a curious pony. One young woman tried to go for an even number of sticks and he shook his head and handed her one more, biting his lip in an attempt to hide frustration that he couldn't explain why to her. If he ever, he thought to himself, spent more than a few trials at a time here - if they even wanted him to come back after this - he was going to take the time to teach them all at least a few signs. Maybe he couldn't learn their words, but that was no reason why they couldn't learn his!
Another circuit took him back to his own half made one. He picked it up and began to fill the sides in with withys, weaving them in and out of the sticks like thread going in and out of cloth in a simple running stitch. Round and round the cone, starting at the narrow, tied, end where he could jam the end of the withy under the cord. Each circuit was wider than the one before. If he went round the outside of a stick on one circuit, the rhythm of it naturally meant that he went around the inside on the next. He worked slowly, both to make it easier for the others to see what he was doing, but also because he could be more careful this way, keeping his tension even and the sticks spread evenly around the hoop. If you rushed it, or you weren't careful, it was easy for the sticks to bunch up, which in turn made the whole cone lopsided, crooked, and harder to use.
He tied the end of the withy down and set the completed cone aside, then went to check on the others being made. None of them were exactly going to win prizes for how they looked, but he thought they'd function well enough, none the less. Eventually, he came back to his own place and made a second, hoop the same width as the first. This time he used shorter sticks to make a shorter cone, started weaving the willow withys at the widest end and didn't tie the ends of the straight sticks together. Instead, he left a gap slightly larger than his fist so that fish could swim in, and he could reach in to add or remove things (like the fish he'd caught) but the fish wouldn't be able to swim out again once they were inside. The second cone sat inside the first cone and he tied them together around the hoops.
That was almost the whole of it. Oh, they still needed their weights of course, but those could be added through the open entry cone, as could the bait. Dan usually fastened a rope to his too, so that he could peg one end of the rope to the bank and not have to worry about his trap being washed away by a strong current. It also meant that he could find the trap easily and gave him an extra hold to haul it out of the water when it was heavy with stones and fish.
You also had to check it regularly, of course. For Dan it was part of his morning routine when he was camped in one place rather than moving between camps. Check your fish trap for fish, check your snares for rabbits and other small creatures, deal with whatever you had caught, reset the traps and snares (with bait if necessary) for tomorrow, gather plants, gather wood, see to the ponies, cook a meal... There was both a rhythm to it and an uncertainty. You knew what you were going to do, or intend to do, but not what you were going to find. That was just - the way nature was. The way the wild was. You lived with it, or you didn't, and that was all that there was to it.
Emily caught his eye with a wave of her hand and then asked what he usually baited his trap with, if it worked so well.
Dan shrugged, "Fish guts, mostly. Whatever I get from cleaning the fish I caught this time goes back in the trap to serve as bait for next time. Simple, and ever self renewing."
She nodded at that, frowning in thought. "And the initial bait?"
"I can," Dan pointed out, a slightly sarcastic tilt to his hands, "always catch a fish some other way. Just because plants are easiest to get, doesn't mean they're the only things I ever get."
She grinned back at him, half rueful at her own remembered eagerness to catch something, half acknowledging the truth of what he was saying, and pushed her trap towards him. "What do you think?"
He ran his hands over it, poking and prodding to test the strength. "It'll do," he said, and he was talking about the lesson he'd given as much as the trap itself. "It'll do."
"Signed words" Spoken words
Dan rummaged through his cart until he found his fish trap, then hauled it out, bracing his muscles against the weight of the stones inside, and carried it out to where it could be more easily inspected. A good handful of the people here seemed to eager to poke and probe it, to the point that he had to bat away a few hands that would have taken it apart to see how it worked, though judging by the volume of the discussion (that rose like a flock of startled pigeons clattering their wings as they took off) they weren't agreeing on much. He wasn't quite sure why it might raise such a fuss. The trap was simple enough, made from wickerwork for flexibility and easy movement, and weighted with river stones so that it sank rather than floated when he put it in the water. It caught his dinner - and often extra to preserve for the cold seasons - on a regular basis. It was sturdy, made with easily found material, and could be replaced without fuss when it wore out. Where was the problem?
"Enough!" he signed emphatically, but they were so busy making a racket of their own, that they didn't respond to his silent signs. Dan's mouth tightened, pushing away the old hurt that rose up in response and considered how he might, actually, get their attention. At last, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and shrill, the way he did to call his ponies to him. There was a sudden, spreading, silence.
"Patience. I'll show you," he told them in sign, adding one of the few spoken phrases he knew. Showme. Emily peeled herself out of the main cluster and began, he hoped, to translate that. She did, at least, know and speak Common Sign, and she knew he had been planning to teach this, as best he could. He also hoped that these people were only like pigeons in their noise level and habit of flocking together, because pigeons were notoriously foolish and prone to blundering into situations. That made them easy to hunt, but not nearly so easy if you needed them to learn from it. "I said I would."
He spread out the supple withys he had cut from the willow tree the trial before, when Emily and he had gone exploring, and some stiffer, straighter sticks that he had taken from the firewood pile. "Watch. Copy if you wish."
He made a hoop from one of the withys, tying the ends together with a sturdy bit of cord and showed it to them, both on its own and laid against the circular opening of his own fish trap so that they knew where it went, giving them the time and space to do the same if they wanted. Emily did, at least, and a few others.
He then took seven straight sticks. The precise number wasn't as important as the fact that there were an odd number of them. Having an odd number meant that you naturally ended up alternating which side of the stick the wicker went, and that made it stronger and likely to last longer. He tied the sticks together at one end, and then spread the other ends out around the hoop so that he had a cone. He showed it to the settlers, tilting it this way and that so that they could see it from all angles, and then watched as they did it. He might not be able to talk directly to most of them, but he could spot if and when they went wrong and correct them before the mistake became a huge problem. He could try to, anyway, but they were spread out enough that he couldn't see all of them at once. He had to keep moving to check everyone, poking his nose in here and there like a curious pony. One young woman tried to go for an even number of sticks and he shook his head and handed her one more, biting his lip in an attempt to hide frustration that he couldn't explain why to her. If he ever, he thought to himself, spent more than a few trials at a time here - if they even wanted him to come back after this - he was going to take the time to teach them all at least a few signs. Maybe he couldn't learn their words, but that was no reason why they couldn't learn his!
Another circuit took him back to his own half made one. He picked it up and began to fill the sides in with withys, weaving them in and out of the sticks like thread going in and out of cloth in a simple running stitch. Round and round the cone, starting at the narrow, tied, end where he could jam the end of the withy under the cord. Each circuit was wider than the one before. If he went round the outside of a stick on one circuit, the rhythm of it naturally meant that he went around the inside on the next. He worked slowly, both to make it easier for the others to see what he was doing, but also because he could be more careful this way, keeping his tension even and the sticks spread evenly around the hoop. If you rushed it, or you weren't careful, it was easy for the sticks to bunch up, which in turn made the whole cone lopsided, crooked, and harder to use.
He tied the end of the withy down and set the completed cone aside, then went to check on the others being made. None of them were exactly going to win prizes for how they looked, but he thought they'd function well enough, none the less. Eventually, he came back to his own place and made a second, hoop the same width as the first. This time he used shorter sticks to make a shorter cone, started weaving the willow withys at the widest end and didn't tie the ends of the straight sticks together. Instead, he left a gap slightly larger than his fist so that fish could swim in, and he could reach in to add or remove things (like the fish he'd caught) but the fish wouldn't be able to swim out again once they were inside. The second cone sat inside the first cone and he tied them together around the hoops.
That was almost the whole of it. Oh, they still needed their weights of course, but those could be added through the open entry cone, as could the bait. Dan usually fastened a rope to his too, so that he could peg one end of the rope to the bank and not have to worry about his trap being washed away by a strong current. It also meant that he could find the trap easily and gave him an extra hold to haul it out of the water when it was heavy with stones and fish.
You also had to check it regularly, of course. For Dan it was part of his morning routine when he was camped in one place rather than moving between camps. Check your fish trap for fish, check your snares for rabbits and other small creatures, deal with whatever you had caught, reset the traps and snares (with bait if necessary) for tomorrow, gather plants, gather wood, see to the ponies, cook a meal... There was both a rhythm to it and an uncertainty. You knew what you were going to do, or intend to do, but not what you were going to find. That was just - the way nature was. The way the wild was. You lived with it, or you didn't, and that was all that there was to it.
Emily caught his eye with a wave of her hand and then asked what he usually baited his trap with, if it worked so well.
Dan shrugged, "Fish guts, mostly. Whatever I get from cleaning the fish I caught this time goes back in the trap to serve as bait for next time. Simple, and ever self renewing."
She nodded at that, frowning in thought. "And the initial bait?"
"I can," Dan pointed out, a slightly sarcastic tilt to his hands, "always catch a fish some other way. Just because plants are easiest to get, doesn't mean they're the only things I ever get."
She grinned back at him, half rueful at her own remembered eagerness to catch something, half acknowledging the truth of what he was saying, and pushed her trap towards him. "What do you think?"
He ran his hands over it, poking and prodding to test the strength. "It'll do," he said, and he was talking about the lesson he'd given as much as the trap itself. "It'll do."
"Signed words" Spoken words
