Dakota cajoled the nail loose and bent it into an improvised fish hook.
Tromping back to the stream, he retrieved the pole and line and, after some trial and error, fastened the bent nail to the braided fibres. He wedged the pole between a couple of rocks, finding the right angle for the hook to suspend below the surface but above the bottom of the stream.
Cupping his hands, he splashed water onto a patch of soil next to the stream. Once the patch was soaked, he dug up handfuls of dirt and mud - each of which he carefully looked through before tossing to the side.
“Aha!.”
Dakota held aloft a wriggling, slimy, surprisingly large…worm. The worm was so large he cut it in half to use later.
“Sorry, little buddy.”
Tying his half-worm to the hook, he gently lowered the line into the water and finally relaxed. He couldn’t explain it but something about having a fishing line in the water allowed him to loosen his grip on life’s problems and unwind.
He hadn’t truly taken in his surroundings before but now, he was impressed by the natural beauty surrounding him. The stream gurgled beside him, providing gentle background noise to the chirps and trills of the woodland birds. Moss clothed the boulders in an array of greens and yellows while also furnishing him with a comfortable spot to sit. The trees swayed in the wind. Their branches twisting to and fro to supply a dappled shade for the entire forest.
Dakota could practically feel his mental fatigue healing as he soaked in the environment. He sat there for another twenty minutes or so, letting his mind rest before suddenly sitting up. An idea had occurred to him. Or, more accurately, an idea had come back to him.
He had been thinking about Survivorman when he remembered how the guy had built a fish trap by jamming sticks side-by-side into a shallow part of a stream with a one-way entrance.
Crouching next to his stream, Dakota spied a spot where the water wasn’t rushing too hard. Leaning down, he dug his fingers into the ground beneath the water. With a sucking sensation, he pulled out a handful of muddy earth,
“That’ll work.”
He collected an armful of branches and stuck them into the mud. They went in easily. Twenty minutes later, he had a small, hopefully, effective fish trap.
Moments after putting the last stick into place, he noticed his rod was bobbing. Scrambling to the pole, Dakota unjammed it and tugged the rod up with one hand as he spooled the loose fibres with his other hand. To his shock, there was a fish attached to the end of the line. He had half-expected to pull up an old boot. The fish wasn’t large, maybe a handspan long with slick scales and gills and eyes and… well he wasn’t much of a fish guy. It sort of just looked like a fish.
“HaHA… you thought I would just roll over and die, didn’t you. Yeah, well look at me now, I’m a fish master… a fish whisperer… I’m a…”
The fish did a backflip, unhooking itself and splashing into the stream.
“Fish idiot”
Dakota reset the rod, attaching the other half of the worm and, once again, settled back.
“Alright, gloating results in punishment. Noted.”
He paced the bank, constantly checking his rod and trap and, after a while, headed back to the farm.
Something drove him back. As soon as he stepped out of the forest and into the field, a weight lifted off of him.
He briefly considered how wild getting stuck in an alternate world was but the idea lacked the emotional punch of earlier in the day. Instead, he found himself circling the farmhouse where he spotted the telltale sign of an old, overgrown path.
Bent over trees and fallen logs littered the track as thick grass and bushes created a formidable barrier for any traveller.
Carefully picking his way, Dakota started down the clogged passage. As he crashed along, his head began swirling with possibilities. Perhaps there was a road up ahead? Maybe he could find someone to tell him where he was. But what if they couldn’t understand him? What if they thought he was a bandit? After an hour of bushwacking, he stopped to think. He desperately wanted to find other people but the chances of finding someone at the end of an abandoned path in the woods were slim. He had fresh water, fish (if he could catch any), and shelter back at the farm. If he were better prepared he might go on.
“Back through this horrendous mess we go Dakota.”
He was already talking to himself. Excellent.
He sat on the back steps of the farmhouse, sipping cool well water from the inexplicably reconstructed bucket. Pointing his finger at a broken rake leaning against the deck he muttered,
[Minor Mundane Repair]
The rake snapped together, pieces ripping from the upper portion to attach themselves around the broken part until, a moment later, he had a serviceable, if shorter rake.
“I don’t think that will ever get old.”
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He pointed his finger at a decrepit part of the steps.
[Minor Mundane Repair]
Like the last two times, pieces ripped free from the steps, filling in the rotten part. This time; however, the rotten part wasn’t completely repaired. While most of the hole had been filled in, a portion along the edge of the steps remained. Dakota realized there were now holes in the parts of the steps that pieces had ripped up from.
“Seems like it can only repurpose existing materials.”
He looked at one of the many smashed windows. The finger of reconstruction swung up.
[Minor Mundane Repair]
Instead of the glass pieces snapping up as the wood had for the rake and steps, the glass almost tiredly rose to the window frame and fused with the other glass shards. As the last shards struggled to reach their spot, they suddenly stopped, hovering for a moment in the air, before crashing to the ground. The pieces that had already fused together stayed in place thankfully. He couldn’t tell if there was a limit to the complexity of the repair or if there was a maximum number of uses.
Groaning, he stood. That was enough pseudo-magic for the day. There were fish that needed catching.
To Dakota’s delight, there was a small fish in the trap. He sat, fascinated that the trap had worked. As he sat, another idea worked into his head. How was he going to eat this thing? He hadn’t been the pickiest eater growing up, but sushi was still a stretch for him. Glancing around, he found a couple of sticks the right size and a bigger branch which he secured between his feet. He rubbed the stick back and forth as fast as he could, this shouldn’t take long, he had seen plenty of people start a fire this way.
Sweat dripped off Dakota’s nose as he worked the stick. He found that pressing down and letting his hands slide generated the most friction. He almost thought he had seen a wisp of smoke earlier.
This. Was. Going. To. Work.
Thirty minutes later, his arms began burning. After an hour, he couldn’t feel his hands. Letting his arms drop, he hung his head as his stomach churned. He needed this fire.
Stripping off his shirt and pants, he slipped into the stream, letting the cool water soothe his aching muscles. What was he doing wrong? He knew watching someone do something was different than doing it yourself but this wasn’t just difficult, it was approaching impossible.
As he looked at his scant possessions from the stream, an idea struck him.
“Use the knife you massive dingus!”
Dakota knelt beside his belongings and grabbed the looted knife. He also snagged a couple of coins from the drawstring pouch. He used the knife to shave a pile of thin tinder which he placed over a dry ball of moss he had collected earlier. Holding the coin in one hand, and the knife in the other, he chinked the knife against the coin. This did not produce the shower of sparks he had hoped for but he had glimpsed a glint. His stomach let out a gurgle of joy as he beat the knife against the coin. Every once in a while, he saw the flicker of a spark.
An hour later, Dakota’s excitement had turned into a cold ball of depression. No matter what angle he used or how hard he struck, there was never enough spark to generate fire.
He hurled the knife away. This wasn’t fair! He shouldn’t even be here having to make a fire to survive. He should be in his bed with a hot cup of earl grey tea and a book. He liked the outdoors but this took it too far. He wanted to go home. He wanted… out of the corner of his eye, he saw the knife glance off one of the boulders by the stream… and create a dazzling spray of sparks.
He stood frozen, almost uncomprehending of what his eyes had just told him in the dimming light. Rushing over to his knife, he gingerly held it aloft.
‘Thank you, Lord.”
Dakota firmly struck the flat of the blade against the boulder. A shower of sparks shot out. His mind finally clicked. There was flint in the rocks. He had been so focused on hitting metal against metal he had totally missed trying it against a rock!
He seized a fist-sized stone from beside the boulder and struck it with the knife. A shower of sparks. Dashing to the fire, he sent showers of sparks into the tinder as the evening sun sank low on the horizon. A small wisp of smoke crawled through the air as Dakota’s eyes were greeted with the blessed sight of a flame licking a piece of kindling.
The fish proved harder to capture than he anticipated. For being in an enclosed space, it managed a number of getaways before he clamped it between his hands and the wall of the trap.
Lifting a stone, he smashed it on the fish’s head. It twitched a few more times before lying still. His hand trembled lightly as he prodded the corpse. He had killed animals before but something about ripping the life from an innocent creature did not sit well with him. The feelings of remorse lasted until his stomach made an immense gurgle. It was as if it could sense food was near.
Spearing the fish on a sharpened stick, he toasted it over his impromptu fire.
“All I need is a bun and some ketchup.”
The smell became intoxicating. Dakota logically knew the fish would not taste that great, but he was certain he hadn’t smelled something so delicious in his entire life. Fifteen minutes later, he couldn’t restrain himself and took a bite out of the charred flesh. Besides the bones and the semi-raw taste, it was heavenly. He only held on for another five minutes before succumbing to hunger and ripping the fish apart.
Dusk fell soon after, casting the stream and boulders into a darkening haze. As Dakota crouched beside his small fire, he suddenly felt vulnerable. What was that sound? Had he just heard a twig snap? An image of the goblins which had greeted him upon entry into this world came pounding back to him.
Gathering his items, he grasped the largest burning branch from the fire. It was time to head back to the farm. The farm. Where was it? He had come to the stream a few times now, but the darkness changed the landscape. With a creeping sense of dread, he hurried beside the stream trying to find the way back.
Dakota held the smouldering branch up, when had it become so dark? He had stayed beside the stream most of the day and not felt a breath of fear. But now he couldn’t…
*crack*
The innocuous sound sent a sliver of fear straight through his heart. Now he was running. Dashing around boulders and through trees. Wait, that tree looked familiar. Without pausing, he barreled past it into the forest. Dakota had cross-country ran before but nothing like this, his arms pumped, his heart raced, and his breath became ragged as the snapping and cracking of twigs grew closer behind him. He burst from the undergrowth onto the farm. Strength filled his limbs and his breath instantly eased. Trepidation filled him as he turned and scanned the edge of the forest where little red lights peered out at him.
“GRAHHH.”
Dakota stomped towards the edge of the forest. Alarmed inhuman exclamations rose from the trees as the red lights vanished. The sound of scurrying footsteps receded into the distance as the night fully took over and the darkness became absolute. On wobbly knees, he turned towards the house.
“Sure glad that worked.”
Pure weariness drove Dakota to sleep that night. He tried staying awake but after kindling a fire in the stove, his last reserves of energy fled. Hand clutched to his knife, his eyelids fluttered close.
[Frontier Farmer Level 5]
[New Skill - Basic Fishing]