Nine
Trying my hardest to make some sort of fire before the rest of the meat goes off. Also, I have been reasoning that my sickness from eating the fish came from the fact that it was raw, not that it was entirely inedible. Some means of cooking would be of utmost use to me right now.
Ventured into the forest to fetch materials for the fire contraption I have been turning over in my mind for some time now. A long and flexible stick to form a bow, a shorter stick to form a spindle, and a flat piece of wood cut from a fallen trunk for a fire board. My cord would form the basis for an acceptable bowstring, and the fluffy scraps of dry grass left over from its production would serve as good tinder.
The quiet in the forest is pleasant. A welcome break from the churning waves, the sound of which can get a little grating at times. Knowing now that this forest bore fruit, I allowed myself to linger longer. Wander further.
The scaled, yellow fruit grows on a waxy vine that can be found climbing the larger trees. The plant has hollow thorns that penetrate through the tree’s bark and sap juices from within. The tree forms ugly brown burls around these thorns, inadvertently locking them in place.
I found the small, unripe fruits growing at about head-height, far too high up for any reasonable-sized animal to reach, while the ripe fruit lay scattered on the ground as if purposefully dropped. Perhaps a curious survival mechanism to ensure one’s seeds are scattered only when ready?
The bitter berries sprout from shrubs close to the ground. The plants grow in evenly-spaced thickets in a clearing, arranged so neatly as to almost appear cultivated.
I got down on my knees to examine the plants up close, marvelling at their tiny leaves and blossoms. The whole clearing had a fresh, sharp, almost vinic sort of smell, which was intoxicatingly strong at ground level. I could’ve stayed there for hours admiring the plants as the open skies streamed sunlight upon me.
Suddenly, I heard the crunch of small footfalls in the dirt. A squeal of alarm. I turned my head to see two black and white animals, who were just as surprised to see me as I was to see them.
The larger of the two had a smaller animal caught by the scruff of the neck in its jaws. A pup, fur grey and downy, eyes not yet open.
It was the same species I had seen before in the forest. Small. Twinkly-eyed. Rounded ears raised high in alarm. Perhaps the most complex animal in this place besides myself, though I had not explored enough to know for certain.
This time, they did not immediately flee.
The smaller of the two slunk slowly towards me, nose twitching, dark eyes darting back and forth. It made a noise, a sort of cough-bark, and blinked deliberately.
I wanted to reply, but it had been so long since I had spoken out loud that my voice had atrophied to a croak. The animal skittered backwards. It stopped next to its companion. Both eyed me sceptically.
Moving as deliberately as I could muster, I gathered up my collected sticks and rose to my feet. Slowly, I stepped backwards. The more space between me and the creatures, the more at ease they seemed.
I hoped perhaps that they could tell the others that I wasn’t of any danger. That I meant no harm.
Back at the camp, I started to assemble the fire-making contraption that had come about in daydreams and half-memories.
I used a glass slither to cut notches into the branch I had designated as the bow, and strung it with cord taut enough so that it made a soft plunk when plucked at. Then, I whittled the bark from one end of another stick to form the dull point of a spindle. It needed to be rough so that the friction could build enough to make sparks. Finally, I gouged a sort of pilot divot into the fire board I had cut for the spindle to sit nicely in.
I twisted the bowstring around the shaft of the spindle, placed the point in the divot in the fire board, and started to pull the bow back and forth in a sort of sawing motion. The spindle rotated in place with a gruff gnawing sound. A smell filled the air; strangely nostalgic, like an old woodworking shop. And then, finally, a tiny plume of grey smoke.
The contraption worked, but I did not feel safe in starting a fire on a whim. The last thing I needed was for it to get out of hand. This would have to be planned carefully.