Wasted Efforts
Spring the 29th, 517 AV
The coast of Kalea, near Kalinor
Spring the 29th, 517 AV
The coast of Kalea, near Kalinor
Waiting. That was the worst part of anything. Of everything. Once something was set in motion, one had to wait for the plan to come to fruition. Oresnya wasn’t fond of waiting.
But she was hungry. It had been two weeks since she had left the comforts of Kalinor, and the food she had brought with her had run out after ten days. Her knowledge of edible fruits of the area was nonexistent, and the only fruit she could recognize she had been told was poisonous. Her trips out of the city had been few and far between, and during them, they had never had to forage for food. For that reason, she had no idea what to look for.
The one thing she had been taught about was hunting, and she had not taken to it well. In fact, it had ended with her vowing never to take another life as long as she lived. But oaths were the product of belief and emotions. They were part of a moral ideal, and as such, they were fragile. Hunger was a law, one that had existed since the beginning. It would not be ignored, and Oresnya needed to eat. An oath could be remade. A law like hunger could not be broken.
Digging through the many forgotten things gathering dust in her memories, Oresnya remembered the simplest form of hunting, a snare. One of her uncles had showed her how to tie a simple slip knot. The only thing Oresnya remembered about snares was how to tie the knot, and even that, a few attempts proved, was hazy at best. Her first fifteen iterations of that knot ended up in knots that remained secure, that didn’t have the characteristic slipping motion that gave the knot its name.
So she had tried one last time. With the free end of her little length of rope, she made a half loop around her free hand, then wrapped the free end of the cord around the main line one full time. Then, she just stared at the lines in her hands for nearly a quarter bell, trying to remember wat her uncle had told her to do next. It was a moment of instinct that told her to grab the main line with her free hand, the one she had looped the rope around initially, and to pull it through, tightening everything around it. To her surprise, it worked.
Her curiosity made her want to undo the knot to see what she had done right, but she wasn’t confident she could repeat the process. Instead, she set the little snare out and waited.
And waited and waited. There had been rabbits aplenty while she had been hoping for a ship over the past two weeks, but now there was nothing. That was when she realized she was hovering far too close to the snare.
An idea formed in her mind, not a great one, but it was all she had. When her uncles had hunted, she always remembered them coating themselves in mud and grime to cover up their scent. To that end, she had dug up some of the loamy earth with her thick, black claws and rolled in it, covering herself from head to toe as best as she could. Then, she set out the snare and piled up the greenest grass she could pluck in the center. With her trap set, she took the other end of the rope in her mouth and scaled a nearby tree, the tiny hooks in her hands making the motion effortless. Once she was up the tree behind some branches, she wedged herself in place by pushing up with her feet from the trunk to press her back against a branch. The tiny hooks ran all over her body, and extending the ones on her back out, she felt her position become even safer. One hand helped secure her hanging position from the tree while the other held the snare line.
And she waited.
The wait seemed insufferable. For half a day, she waited, the bells passing in their relentless march while her muscles slowly began to ache. Her thighs and her shoulder were hurting from the unending effort to keep her suspended. Every chime now, she had to shift her weight from one leg to the other, so each leg could find at least a moment’s rest.
Oresnya found she was not good at waiting, and that patience was not a virtue. It was wasted time and wasted effort.
She was just about to give up when a rabbit hopped out from behind some bushes, nose twitching curiously at the scent of the fresh picked grass. Popping up on its hind legs, it lifted its snout in the air, sniffing the air for predators and scanning the skies for shadows. Not finding any, it dropped back down and hopped slowly forward, nose pulsing to draw in the many smells all around it. Step by hop step, it grew closer, but a few steps from the pile of grass and the snare, it stopped and began eating a sprig of unclipped grass instead.
Oresnya cursed the little creature in her mind and was, once again, left waiting. It was the worst part of the hunt.
But she was hungry. It had been two weeks since she had left the comforts of Kalinor, and the food she had brought with her had run out after ten days. Her knowledge of edible fruits of the area was nonexistent, and the only fruit she could recognize she had been told was poisonous. Her trips out of the city had been few and far between, and during them, they had never had to forage for food. For that reason, she had no idea what to look for.
The one thing she had been taught about was hunting, and she had not taken to it well. In fact, it had ended with her vowing never to take another life as long as she lived. But oaths were the product of belief and emotions. They were part of a moral ideal, and as such, they were fragile. Hunger was a law, one that had existed since the beginning. It would not be ignored, and Oresnya needed to eat. An oath could be remade. A law like hunger could not be broken.
Digging through the many forgotten things gathering dust in her memories, Oresnya remembered the simplest form of hunting, a snare. One of her uncles had showed her how to tie a simple slip knot. The only thing Oresnya remembered about snares was how to tie the knot, and even that, a few attempts proved, was hazy at best. Her first fifteen iterations of that knot ended up in knots that remained secure, that didn’t have the characteristic slipping motion that gave the knot its name.
So she had tried one last time. With the free end of her little length of rope, she made a half loop around her free hand, then wrapped the free end of the cord around the main line one full time. Then, she just stared at the lines in her hands for nearly a quarter bell, trying to remember wat her uncle had told her to do next. It was a moment of instinct that told her to grab the main line with her free hand, the one she had looped the rope around initially, and to pull it through, tightening everything around it. To her surprise, it worked.
Her curiosity made her want to undo the knot to see what she had done right, but she wasn’t confident she could repeat the process. Instead, she set the little snare out and waited.
And waited and waited. There had been rabbits aplenty while she had been hoping for a ship over the past two weeks, but now there was nothing. That was when she realized she was hovering far too close to the snare.
An idea formed in her mind, not a great one, but it was all she had. When her uncles had hunted, she always remembered them coating themselves in mud and grime to cover up their scent. To that end, she had dug up some of the loamy earth with her thick, black claws and rolled in it, covering herself from head to toe as best as she could. Then, she set out the snare and piled up the greenest grass she could pluck in the center. With her trap set, she took the other end of the rope in her mouth and scaled a nearby tree, the tiny hooks in her hands making the motion effortless. Once she was up the tree behind some branches, she wedged herself in place by pushing up with her feet from the trunk to press her back against a branch. The tiny hooks ran all over her body, and extending the ones on her back out, she felt her position become even safer. One hand helped secure her hanging position from the tree while the other held the snare line.
And she waited.
The wait seemed insufferable. For half a day, she waited, the bells passing in their relentless march while her muscles slowly began to ache. Her thighs and her shoulder were hurting from the unending effort to keep her suspended. Every chime now, she had to shift her weight from one leg to the other, so each leg could find at least a moment’s rest.
Oresnya found she was not good at waiting, and that patience was not a virtue. It was wasted time and wasted effort.
She was just about to give up when a rabbit hopped out from behind some bushes, nose twitching curiously at the scent of the fresh picked grass. Popping up on its hind legs, it lifted its snout in the air, sniffing the air for predators and scanning the skies for shadows. Not finding any, it dropped back down and hopped slowly forward, nose pulsing to draw in the many smells all around it. Step by hop step, it grew closer, but a few steps from the pile of grass and the snare, it stopped and began eating a sprig of unclipped grass instead.
Oresnya cursed the little creature in her mind and was, once again, left waiting. It was the worst part of the hunt.