100 Ashan 719
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 tethered both 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 fresh new grass. 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, late Ashan 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. 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 - and froze when he saw someone approaching him.
