My first spear will be a conifer branch of my own height. That’s a bit long, as I’m 1.9 cm tall. That’s fine. Reach is more important than compactness right now.
To make the spear, I must first find a spearhead. I’ve sharpened the tip with the stone axe, but this tip will do little more than penetrate the skin of the softest-skin animals, and then break. If I want to hunt properly, I will need something hard, something that takes an edge. I have a few options. The breastbone of an animal may server, but their ability to hold an edge is concerning. Stones are also a possibility, but there are few candidates here. I was lucky in finding something suitable for an axe head. A candidate for a spear, which must be longer, thinner, but still sharp, is going to require some searching. For now, the breastbone of an animal seems like a good idea. The crocodile-like amphibian had a few decent options. If I can kill it with this and gut it properly with the axe, we’ll be able to complete the spear.
How to attract one, though?
As terrible as it sounds, the best way is usually the simplest. In this case, it involves stepping into the water. The water is, predictably, filthy, steaming, and shallow. I use the tip of the spear to check the water ahead. Its length offers me some assurance that I’m not about to step into the deep end.
I walk about ten meters through the marsh, until the water is up to knees. I’m hesitant to go any deeper. If the water rises to my hips or above, the loss of mobility may allow the predators to make a quick meal of me.
I stare out at the water, and the predators do not move. They do not seem to respond to my taunt. Gently, I tap the water’s surface, tempting them with the sound of fish playing. No luck. Are they sated, or dead, or simply too smart to be fooled by my ruse?
It’s strange to imagine that one got lucky when an animal tried to kill them.
But then it starts. God, I must have waited an hour. The sweat poured off of me as I stood there. I must learn to stand, to wait, however long, however painful, until what I see becomes the norm. Yes, it is moving towards me, a faint animal shape sashaying through the water, an undulating mass of smooth, dark flesh moving towards my position.
I begin to slowly back out of the water. I want to take it up onto land. I get halfway to the shore when the animal turns and swims away.
It’s the movement that frightens them. Yes, that’s most likely. They’re frightened by the movement of something so large in their waters. Are there animals in this marsh that are my size? Is this a specific fear, or a generic fear of an unknown?
Nevertheless, I must remain. I am so hungry. I wait, teasing the water gently, until the animals again notice. It is not quick. These animals are timid, as all animals ultimately are. They attack out of fear, out of starvation, out of panic. They attack when they have no option to run.
I could probably stab a fish with my spear, but they are small. The commotion would scare away other animals, and the meat would be a paltry offering. I need the amphibian. I need its meet for food, its bones for weapons, its leather for line and laces.
I play again with the water. One comes. One comes, but it is different this time. I see immediately that it is moving quickly. This one is hungry, aggressive. I know now that I must wait, or else it will leave. As it nears, I see that it is not aggressive because it is scared, but because it is large. It is a large amphibian, one that hunts and kills its meat with savage abandon.
The beast dips below the shallow water as it approaches. At two meters, I see it open its mouth as it approaches my legs. I raise my spear, with its ugly, barely-sharp tip, and prepare.