60 Ashan 722
Dan paused his journey between camp sites when he saw fish leaping in the lake. He wasn't in such a hurry that he couldn't take a break for food, and fresh fish would be a pleasant meal. He unharnessed the ponies and led them down a shallow beach to water them, then turned them loose to graze while he worked.
Retrieving his fishing kit, he fitted the pieces of the fishing pole together, fastened the fishing line to one end, and tied the hook to the other end of the line. He had a few bait balls in his bait box, but bait that was still wriggling was more likely to catch fish, so he poked his way along the dirt at the edge of the beach until he found a worm, and skewered that onto his hook instead.
He pulled off his boots, rolled up his trousers and waded out into the water with the rod in his hand. Water and sand slid comfortingly between his toes as he walked. When he was about knee deep, he settled his feet securely in the lake bed, and sent the hook out into the water ahead of him with a flick of his wrist, glad that it worked first time, and that he was far enough away from any trees that he didn't have to worry about the line going in the wrong direction and catching on a branch instead of a fish.
There were, of course, other things that could go wrong. Your line could break, or could come loose from the hook or the pole if you hadn't tied it tightly enough. Your bait could fall off, or be snagged by a fish canny enough to avoid the hook. The pole itself could break. Dan preferred not to dwell on them. He couldn't prevent most of them anyway. Instead, he focused on the feel of the rod against his palms, learning the ebb and flow of this patch of water so that when something changed he would know and could react to it.
He didn't have to wait too long before he had a bite on his line. One hand tightened fast enough to keep hold of the rod as it bent in a long low arc. The other was too slow, and he stunbled a step deeper into the waves as he tried to grab it again.
Finally getting both hands in place on the rod, he braced both feet into the soft sandy lake bed and heaved. The end of the line jerked into the air with a thrashing fish attached, and then splashed down into the waves once more as the fish fought back. It pulled away from him, trying to head out to sea, and nearly pulled the rod out of his hands again when it hit the end of the line with a jerk. Thankfully, the line didn't break under the strain. Dan bared his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile and pulled harder. He tried to keep a steady haul in place as he dragged the fish closer and closer though he wasn't sure how well he succeeded.
When it finally came within reach, he grabbed it, hooked fingers and thumb into its gills, and threw it up onto the beach. It flapped and thrashed there, trying to get back to the water, and he chased after it and smacked it hard in the head with the pommel of his knife to stun and then kill it.
He fastened it to the side of his cart, out of reach of opportunistic predators, eyed the size of it and went to find another worm. The wind had picked up, ruffling the surface of the lake, and the clouds were beginning to build and darken on the horizon. He was in for another shower, he suspected, with a sigh and a wry grimace. He caught a second fish, but his third got away as the rain started to fall.
Dan pulled a face, and pulled out his knife and began to clean the fish. He thrust the blade up through the first fish'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. The second set of fish guts came out just as easily, and he flipped them over and scraped off the scales with the blunt back of his knife, before rinsing the lot in the lake and tucking them up out of the way.
He didn't really want to set the tent up in the rain, especially if he was only going to have to take it down again tomorrow. Touching the cloth of the tent walls and roof while it was raining, as he would have to to set it up, was an open invitation for leaks to develop, and folding it and transporting it while it was wet was just asking for it to grow mold or mildew.
But at the same time, he really didn't feel like lying in the rain all night and getting his clothes, bedding, and other gear soaking wet. He picked fresh greens for a somewhat damp salad as he thought - watercress, sorrel, young carrot greens (with carrots still attached) and young dandelion leaves. Wrapping them in a clean rag, he stowed them in his gathering bag, rolled down his trouser legs, and shoved damp feet into clammy boots. He harnessed the ponies again, swung himself up into Cloud's saddle and gathered up Smoke's leading rein. Then, with a sigh, he turned away from the lake, towards the edge of the forest and the prospect of alternative shelter.
It wasn't, in theory, that long a ride, but it certainly felt like it. The wind kept sneaking under and tugging open his rain cloak so that water trickled coldly down the back of his neck and spattered in at all the opportunistic gaps that the wind created, as if both wind and rain were working together to make Dan feel as cold and wet and wretched as they possibly could. He gritted his teeth and put up with it, from the hands that ached with the cold where they were exposed by holding the reins, to the feet numbed by wind chill in their leather boots that, right now, weren't convinced they would ever feel warm again.
He reached the forest just as the skies opened and the rain turned from a shower to a deluge. Under him, Cloud huffed a long-suffering sigh, but kept plodding on to get under the uncertain shelter of the trees. Dan grimaced in sympathy, and pried a cold hand off the reins to pat her neck. Cloud acknowleged the praise with a flick of her ears but didn't stop.
The forest rustled and dripped around them. Dan kept his eyes out for an old pine tree, and finally found one with branches that swept down to the ground. Dan slid down from Cloud, landing on nearly numb feet and waiting for them to wake up enough that he could walk without risk of falling. Then he parted the branches of the pine and peered in. Sure enough, the inner branches had died off long ago because light couldn't get to them through the outer layer of thickly needled, evergreen branches. That die back had left the pine shaped like a tent with the trunk like a center pole, and the sweeping branches like the walls, thick enough to block out the rain as well as the sun.
Dan signed his gratitude to the spirit of the forest and brought both ponies and the cart into the natural shelter of the pine tree. He rubbed his hands briskly over each other until they loosened up from their cold induced stiffness, and then lifted the protective cover on the cart that had kept the worst of the weather off his belongings, and rummaged out the grooming kit.
You took care of your animals before you took care of yourself, always, unless you were so badly injured that you weren't physically able to do so (or so rich and seperated from nature that you could afford and were willing to afford for someone else to do the work for you, in which case you gave instructions for the care of your animals before you saw to your own care.) Besides, Dan thought, with a rueful grimace as he pushed wet curls out of his eyes, the work of grooming them would help to warm him up too.
Continues here
"Signed words" Spoken words
Dan paused his journey between camp sites when he saw fish leaping in the lake. He wasn't in such a hurry that he couldn't take a break for food, and fresh fish would be a pleasant meal. He unharnessed the ponies and led them down a shallow beach to water them, then turned them loose to graze while he worked.
Retrieving his fishing kit, he fitted the pieces of the fishing pole together, fastened the fishing line to one end, and tied the hook to the other end of the line. He had a few bait balls in his bait box, but bait that was still wriggling was more likely to catch fish, so he poked his way along the dirt at the edge of the beach until he found a worm, and skewered that onto his hook instead.
He pulled off his boots, rolled up his trousers and waded out into the water with the rod in his hand. Water and sand slid comfortingly between his toes as he walked. When he was about knee deep, he settled his feet securely in the lake bed, and sent the hook out into the water ahead of him with a flick of his wrist, glad that it worked first time, and that he was far enough away from any trees that he didn't have to worry about the line going in the wrong direction and catching on a branch instead of a fish.
There were, of course, other things that could go wrong. Your line could break, or could come loose from the hook or the pole if you hadn't tied it tightly enough. Your bait could fall off, or be snagged by a fish canny enough to avoid the hook. The pole itself could break. Dan preferred not to dwell on them. He couldn't prevent most of them anyway. Instead, he focused on the feel of the rod against his palms, learning the ebb and flow of this patch of water so that when something changed he would know and could react to it.
He didn't have to wait too long before he had a bite on his line. One hand tightened fast enough to keep hold of the rod as it bent in a long low arc. The other was too slow, and he stunbled a step deeper into the waves as he tried to grab it again.
Finally getting both hands in place on the rod, he braced both feet into the soft sandy lake bed and heaved. The end of the line jerked into the air with a thrashing fish attached, and then splashed down into the waves once more as the fish fought back. It pulled away from him, trying to head out to sea, and nearly pulled the rod out of his hands again when it hit the end of the line with a jerk. Thankfully, the line didn't break under the strain. Dan bared his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile and pulled harder. He tried to keep a steady haul in place as he dragged the fish closer and closer though he wasn't sure how well he succeeded.
When it finally came within reach, he grabbed it, hooked fingers and thumb into its gills, and threw it up onto the beach. It flapped and thrashed there, trying to get back to the water, and he chased after it and smacked it hard in the head with the pommel of his knife to stun and then kill it.
He fastened it to the side of his cart, out of reach of opportunistic predators, eyed the size of it and went to find another worm. The wind had picked up, ruffling the surface of the lake, and the clouds were beginning to build and darken on the horizon. He was in for another shower, he suspected, with a sigh and a wry grimace. He caught a second fish, but his third got away as the rain started to fall.
Dan pulled a face, and pulled out his knife and began to clean the fish. He thrust the blade up through the first fish'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. The second set of fish guts came out just as easily, and he flipped them over and scraped off the scales with the blunt back of his knife, before rinsing the lot in the lake and tucking them up out of the way.
He didn't really want to set the tent up in the rain, especially if he was only going to have to take it down again tomorrow. Touching the cloth of the tent walls and roof while it was raining, as he would have to to set it up, was an open invitation for leaks to develop, and folding it and transporting it while it was wet was just asking for it to grow mold or mildew.
But at the same time, he really didn't feel like lying in the rain all night and getting his clothes, bedding, and other gear soaking wet. He picked fresh greens for a somewhat damp salad as he thought - watercress, sorrel, young carrot greens (with carrots still attached) and young dandelion leaves. Wrapping them in a clean rag, he stowed them in his gathering bag, rolled down his trouser legs, and shoved damp feet into clammy boots. He harnessed the ponies again, swung himself up into Cloud's saddle and gathered up Smoke's leading rein. Then, with a sigh, he turned away from the lake, towards the edge of the forest and the prospect of alternative shelter.
It wasn't, in theory, that long a ride, but it certainly felt like it. The wind kept sneaking under and tugging open his rain cloak so that water trickled coldly down the back of his neck and spattered in at all the opportunistic gaps that the wind created, as if both wind and rain were working together to make Dan feel as cold and wet and wretched as they possibly could. He gritted his teeth and put up with it, from the hands that ached with the cold where they were exposed by holding the reins, to the feet numbed by wind chill in their leather boots that, right now, weren't convinced they would ever feel warm again.
He reached the forest just as the skies opened and the rain turned from a shower to a deluge. Under him, Cloud huffed a long-suffering sigh, but kept plodding on to get under the uncertain shelter of the trees. Dan grimaced in sympathy, and pried a cold hand off the reins to pat her neck. Cloud acknowleged the praise with a flick of her ears but didn't stop.
The forest rustled and dripped around them. Dan kept his eyes out for an old pine tree, and finally found one with branches that swept down to the ground. Dan slid down from Cloud, landing on nearly numb feet and waiting for them to wake up enough that he could walk without risk of falling. Then he parted the branches of the pine and peered in. Sure enough, the inner branches had died off long ago because light couldn't get to them through the outer layer of thickly needled, evergreen branches. That die back had left the pine shaped like a tent with the trunk like a center pole, and the sweeping branches like the walls, thick enough to block out the rain as well as the sun.
Dan signed his gratitude to the spirit of the forest and brought both ponies and the cart into the natural shelter of the pine tree. He rubbed his hands briskly over each other until they loosened up from their cold induced stiffness, and then lifted the protective cover on the cart that had kept the worst of the weather off his belongings, and rummaged out the grooming kit.
You took care of your animals before you took care of yourself, always, unless you were so badly injured that you weren't physically able to do so (or so rich and seperated from nature that you could afford and were willing to afford for someone else to do the work for you, in which case you gave instructions for the care of your animals before you saw to your own care.) Besides, Dan thought, with a rueful grimace as he pushed wet curls out of his eyes, the work of grooming them would help to warm him up too.
Continues here
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