No, he figures to come at this magic business slowly, gradually growing in proficiency over time. He only hopes this world will allow him such a luxury.
Late in the morning, he comes upon a small clearing. He pauses at the edge upon spying several rabbits. His stomach has been grumbling for the past hour, those berries hadn’t done much to satiate his hunger. As he gazes upon the rabbits, a memory of when his father had once caught and cooked a rabbit during one of their camping trips makes it even worse.
Knowing that his skill rating with a spear was probably somewhere near zero, he comes up with a spell to help his aim. Holding his spear and preparing to throw, he quietly says:
Spear of mine please strike true,
Strike the rabbit and go right through.
As the last syllable is spoken, he takes aim at the nearest rabbit, draws back his arm and throws. When the spear leaves his hand, he again feels the surge of power. The spear flies unerringly through the air to impale the rabbit. True to the words of the spell, the tip of the spear passes completely through the rabbit and embeds itself deep within the ground. The attack causes rabbits to scatter in all directions. In no time, the clearing was deserted save for the lone, dead rabbit.
Yeah, Baby! Excited, James runs over to the rabbit, watching as it kicks in its death throes. It took some doing to pull his spear from the ground. Next time, he may have to alter his wording so as to only have the spear only kill the rabbit, not pass all the way through. But what’s the difference, he had done it!
Once the spear came free, he turns his attention to the rabbit. Gazing at it, he suddenly realizes he hasn’t a clue what to do now. His only experience with this sort of thing was during the one camping trip in which his dad had caught and skinned one. Didn’t dad use his knife to remove the skin? James wishes he had spent more time watching and less time skipping rocks on the water.
The only thing he has that could be considered sharp is the spear which will be little use in skinning a rabbit. Looking around the clearing, he spies a hand-sized stone. Striking it against a larger one, the smaller stone splits in two. One half has a semi-sharp edge; it should work.
Very carefully he uses the rock to slice off the head and feet. Feeling slightly nauseated, James takes the rock and slowly peels off the skin. The rock is definitely not the best tool for the job but he eventually has a rabbit ready for the spit.
His blood soaked hands remind him of Seth, and a shudder runs through him, his gorge rising. Steady boy, don’t let the past rattle you. You did the best you could for him.
Placing the carcass on a layer of leaves, James uses dirt to rid his hands of much of the blood before gathering kindling. After clearing a site for the fire, he stacks the wood together then places bits of dried moss beneath.
Moss I placed under the wood
Ignite so I can cook my food
Hokey though his wording may be, they prove effective. The moss begins to smoke, then bursts into flame. He kneels and gently blows on the flickering flame, coaxing it higher until the kindling catches. Satisfied that the fire will continue on its own, he gathers several sticks to create a makeshift spit.
Once it’s set and the fat from the rabbit begins dripping into the fire, he relaxes against a tree trunk. Every once in a while, the far off cry of a wolf echoes through the trees. His fear of being discovered spikes each time. He definitely does not wish to spend another night in the trees, but what choice does he have?
The wolves are remarkably like the ones you would expect to find in a forest back home. In fact, all the animals he has seen so far have been very Earth-like. If it wasn’t for the little creature and the fact that he can do magic, he could very well be back home on a campout.
He and his dad had gone camping a time or two. It was one of his few good memories of his parents. They would go up around Yosemite and backpack, do the nature thing. His dad would catch fish and they would have a fish fry. When they returned home they would tell his mom about all the fish they had caught, both real and imagined. She would then say how good he is and how proud of her little man she was.
What would dad say if he could see me now? I’m starting a bit rough but I have food and a weapon, as well as my health; I’m managing.
“ You’re doing fine son,” his dad would say.
“ I wish you were here with me, Dad. I don’t remember all that you tried to teach me. I sure miss you.”
“ You’re alive James, be happy. You’re in a bad situation but you’re making the best of it. I taught you self- reliance and I’m mighty proud of you.” His father stands there with a smile, the smile he always wore when James did something he especially liked.
With a tear in his eye James walks over to his father and gives him a hug. His father returns the hug warmly.
Crash!
Startled out of his daydream, James finds the spit that had once held his lunch burning in the fire, and his dinner running away in the mouth of what looks like a small dog. Stupid, daydreaming fool! Lurching to his feet, he races after. Running under bushes and around trees, the dog quickly out-paces him and is gone, along with his lunch.
“Damn!”
Returning to his fire, James takes his spear and looks around the clearing for more rabbits or an acceptable substitute. Nothing! His yell and the chasing of the dog must have scared everything away. No use sitting around here! Using his foot, he puts out the fire by covering it with dirt. Grabbing his backpack, he stalks off with self- deprecating recriminations running through his mind, and a fierce growl in his belly.
No more than half an hour goes by before he has found, killed and begun roasting another small animal. Not sure exactly what it is, or was, it kind of looks like a squirrel but the size of a small cat. This time he keeps his wits about him and remains alert for any scavengers who might happen by.
The aroma of roasting meat makes his stomach cramp. Impatient for the meat to be done, he removes it from the fire when it has cooked “enough.” Taking the meat to a nearby tree, he sits with his back against the trunk and proceeds to eat.
As he bites into the roasted meat, the juices run down his chin. Never has anything tasted so good. Of course, I’ve never been this hungry before in my life. Wonder what grandma would do with this if she was here? Thinking of his grandmother’s cooking brings back the feeling of homesickness.
It seemed like he had just started when the last of the meat had been stripped from the bone. He feels much better now that he has something more substantial than berries in his stomach. A nearby stream provides the opportunity to clean his hands and face, as well as a much needed drink. He also washes the blood off his “skinning” stone and places it in his backpack. More than likely, he will have need of it again.
Refreshed, he grabs his backpack and spear and sets out once more in search of Trendle. If it wasn’t for the possibility of meeting the same fate as Seth, he would be enjoying himself.
The nearby stream flows in the general direction so he decides to follow it. There is less of a chance of being turned around if he uses it as a guide. Also, it might eventually lead to civilization. Streams lead to rivers, rivers to lakes and ponds. And where there is water, there are usually people.
Berry bushes along the streambed hold numerous berries. After eating a dozen or so he gathers a number of the ripest ones and wraps them in a leaf before placing them in his backpack.
The rest of the afternoon proceeds in similar manner as the morning; forging through inhospitable undergrowth bent on barring his way at all cost, relieved only by all too infrequent clearings. He did encounter one meadow that was rather extensive boasting two fair sized pools. Both were crystal clear, and in the afternoon sun, could clearly see their bounty of dark-green fish with twin red stripes near the tail.
An hour before nightfall, the land began a more downward slope that ends at an abrupt drop. The stream flows over the drop to cascade down the uneven surface in the guise of a small waterfall only to form a small pond thirty feet below. An area to the right of the water would make an ideal campsite. With the wall of the drop at its back, and flanked by the pond on one side and a large fallen tree on the other, it will provide a modicum of shelter through the night.
He first tosses his spear to the clearing below, then works his way down the side of the drop. Once at the bottom, he rests his pack against the backdrop then starts gathering wood for the fire. After a sufficient quantity has been gathered, he takes his spear and sets out in search of game. It doesn’t take long before another rabbit
