It was noon now with fist deep snow.It was just on edge of freezing. Cornan’s breath misted in the air. The snow worried him. This depth was shallow yet it would thicken. Finding things on the ground would only get harder. Both the covering and how deep snow fatigue those moving.
In theory he could make skis. That is if he wasn’t so miserable in crafting. It took ten hours to turn a staff into a javelin. He had kept whittling it to get a balance that was still clumsy. The fire hardened point was stronger yet it had come off badly enough to have trimmed it shorter to reheat a fresh end. Skis needed foot leathers, the boots, and a ski pole needed leather too. The single small bird was as much as a start as a filling a barrel with a spoon.
Circling the north part of the smaller of the two lakes he gathered here and there. These flowers and berries would wither soon. Then they would be gone. It wasn’t really worth it to treat them like farm crops. Too inefficient to gather. They were normally fetched when the real crops didn’t need tending. More rocks and stones. The heavy stones would provide the weight force for more traps. Turning inedible stones into edible meat. Another fallen tree was found which he rolled closer to the camp. Eventually getting it there would be better than felling a tree with whatever crude axe he could one day muster. He slept with a small smokey fire heating the rocks to continue to emit heat to him.
In the morning he awoke hot. A healthy sign for now. With lake water from his regular ice breaking spot he could drink to make up his sweat. Flowers, berries then finally a small portion of beans made up his breakfast. At the water hole he stretched the bird hide as the last stage in its tanning. It was a tiny amount. At least he could use it to tie a corner on his shirt as a crude satchel.
Light was minimal. Cornan decided to use the thin light times to split the spruce branches. The winter ones were drier. Started with the rusty knife, then pulling carefully with the knife to help with knots they paired down. Now they could be twisted as primitive cordage. He hadn’t done this in years. Each was turned back on itself to make a loop snare. Crude miserable loop snares. Success would lay in numbers. Berries, flowers and his camp cooking smells would draw in animals. Hopefully small animals not bears or that pack of wolves.
With rising light he trudged along the west bank turning east to follow the south bank of the smaller lake. More stones, berries and flowers. A few saplings and a useful shaft of pine completed the load carried back. It was over a hundred and fifty pounds in all that. His time as a hard worked slave and his natural size of over six feet had its advantages.
Returning he smirked merrily. Another bird was caught in another trap. This was how the sagas of Novrus spoke of improved camps. Until you can bring down big came scatter cluster of traps and snares around your work sight.
Going to start cleaning the catch another bird was caught. One in the freshly made loop snares! This was a good day for eating! Cornan also wondered if this was a migration that would thin out as the days past. He put out a sacrifice of berries with a short prayer of thanks.
Rain came pounding down around noon. He was out cleaning the two birds. In his starvation he realized he had snapped them apart for meat before skinning! A foul curse he slung out into the world for his own mistake. Skin first, butcher second!
Gather was done in the afternoon. Into the evening he started progress on returning that tree trunk.
Spoolsh!
All in the forest heard his guttural whooping. He hadn’t seen the mire pond for the snow on the ice. The tree went in and so did Cornan! He was soaked in bitter cold. It was no more than waist deep. He had been pushing the log which went in and he fell head first all the way in as well. Panicked cold drove him out only to collapse into more thin ice. It was a wider pool. He had walked by it a few times but only a few times. The fading light, the snow and his own bliss had led to this.
Stepping now onto firm ground his first thoughts were to save the tree. Later he would laugh at saving a tree from floating. He pushed it just a little ways before abandoning it. He hurried to the shelter to start an emergency fire.
To stay awake he carved stakes from one of the pine shafts. Cornan was worried if he fell asleep too soon before drying it would be his end. The work also kept his mind off of death. Finally done he was dry and it was dark. That is all he cared about. When he awoke it was the afternoon.
This day was one of reflection. Another bird trapped being sure to skin it first before butchering. Reseting traps to clear the snow. Just being alive. Barely alive after that freezing drop.
Thoughts drifted to slave days. Being beaten for not acting when they said things in their own language that he didn’t know. Bruises straining on aching muscles to carry loads of firewood. Long march with the a mountain sized bundle of goods when the camp moved. Cornan could carry. Cornan could haul. Cornan had moved in the ice covered tree to the camp with little thought.
He did gather the presence of mind to save some of the bird meat to bait a medium sized lever trap. It might catch something more productive.
Leaning back in the late he thought of his family. Years since they had been seen. His father took up a recently made sword to chop off a raider’s arm. Another raider’s axe wounded father then the sword pierced the raider’s throat. Having been a gladiator now Cornan realized his father’s sword lessons had seem like normal child’s play. The truth sunk in that his father had a warrior’s skill. It was a swarm of dogs that pulled down his father. Arrows from a neighbor wounded the dogs. Cornan’s mother picked up the sword shielding the boy Cornan with her free hand. He had hid his eyes from the monstrous looking raider with the calm eyes. When mother’s hand slid away Cornan opened his eyes to see her unmoving eyes looking up from the snow where her head was no longer with her body.
Taking a breath he put out sacrifices to his parent’s spirits then dozed off to sleep.
This day, day 7 of the 10th week to midwinter point, was a gentle day. Cornan explored a short distance east doing more gathering. The berries were now of use as trap bait. A stock of them was now in the shelter. He still ate them at times between roasted meats. Perhaps five pounds of beans remained as a reserve.
Starvation slightly weakened him. It was a fighting balance. Like two gladiators making minor wounds seeing who would bleed or weaken first. Cornan was fighting this battle. It was dangerous. He could win. He could live.
The next day was a routine. Another single bird caught. Various traps reset. Gathering nearby. Soon he’d have enough leather to make a stone axe. As a precaution he placed out pairs of branches around that mire pool he feel into. The safe path was marked with spruce. Let there be no future accidents.
Into the evening he held his hands out. They were steady. He had over come the slight starvation with the roasted birds. One might think the battle was won. Cornan knew better. With deep winter coming this was just the first match. Meaner, stronger, bigger fighters were coming with the deep winter storms. Tonight he slept contented knowing this battle was won. The second victory if you count escaping in the first place.
<<Cornan 007 out of stavation>>
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[Brygun] Cornan the Barbarian
Topic: [Brygun] Cornan the Barbarian (Read 26618 times)