Post by Caex on Oct 27, 2019 16:44:57 GMT
Caex had hunted, what he did best. He had no concept of pride - he simply knew the limits of his abilities, and that he had matched them. A large pile of pelts and skins, scraped and oiled, awaited their transformation into a shelter. He had abandoned the old, fallen tree which had served as a foundation for his leaky, temporary bivouac, searching the marshlands for something more sturdy. He had found a small outcrop of rock, no more than a large boulder. An unusual discovery in this place of restless silt, but welcome. It would form the rear of his shelter, and he could climb to the top as a lookout over the wastes. Now to build.
****
Some hours later, and Caex had again matched the limit of his abilities. Unfortunately in this case the limit was low. The building of shelters in his tribe had largely been left to the females, who were most often at camp anyway, watching over the hatchlings. His knots, so useful for snares, were not holding the branch framework of the shelter as tight as he had hoped, and the construction of a place to live was very different to the construction of a trap. It leaned awkwardly, and the roof sagged, sure to gather any rain that fell, further destabilising the structure. He suspected it would only last the week, if that. He would have to learn from this, and do increase the limit of his abilities. The only other options were to freeze to death when winter came, or to suffer living among the softskins. At this point, he couldn't decide which would be worse.
If he was to be prepared to rebuild when this first attempt at a shelter inevitably collapsed, he would need more pelts. He collected his sword fang, sliding it into a leather loop at his hip, and slipped away into the murky water.
****
Some hours later, and Caex had again matched the limit of his abilities. Unfortunately in this case the limit was low. The building of shelters in his tribe had largely been left to the females, who were most often at camp anyway, watching over the hatchlings. His knots, so useful for snares, were not holding the branch framework of the shelter as tight as he had hoped, and the construction of a place to live was very different to the construction of a trap. It leaned awkwardly, and the roof sagged, sure to gather any rain that fell, further destabilising the structure. He suspected it would only last the week, if that. He would have to learn from this, and do increase the limit of his abilities. The only other options were to freeze to death when winter came, or to suffer living among the softskins. At this point, he couldn't decide which would be worse.
If he was to be prepared to rebuild when this first attempt at a shelter inevitably collapsed, he would need more pelts. He collected his sword fang, sliding it into a leather loop at his hip, and slipped away into the murky water.