Chương 3: B1 Chapter 2

The first snare waited beneath a cluster of low palms, where the narrow trail passed between two roots before disappearing beneath the ferns. I saw the bent sapling before I saw what it had caught. The cord trembled against the trunk. I lowered my torch and found an agouti waiting at the other end. One hind leg had been pulled into the air, leaving the animal stretched along the ground with its front claws dug into the soil. It had exhausted itself long before I arrived.

Its sides rose and fell rapidly, and one dark eye followed the fire as I approached. I set the torch into a split branch I'd driven into the earth the day before. Both hands were needed for what came next. There were hunters who allowed trapped animals to struggle until they died. That spared them the unpleasantness of ending a life, although it damaged the meat and often destroyed the snare. Fear soured an animal, my father said, and suffering invited predators.

I placed one hand behind the agouti's head and ended its life quickly.

"Thank you," I whispered. The words were for the animal, the forest, and whichever god had guided it into my snare. My people disagreed about which one deserved the gratitude, so I offered it to all of them and trusted them to divide it among themselves. I loosened the loop from the agouti's leg and inspected the cord. Several fibres had frayed where the animal twisted against them, but the damage was shallow.

I rubbed the weakened section between my fingers, decided it would survive another night, and reset the snare along the trail. The agouti went into a woven sling that rested across my back. I adjusted its weight until it sat high between my shoulders, collected my torch, and continued toward the second trap. This one had been placed beneath a fruiting tree where fallen pulp drew birds down from the canopy.

Its sapling had also been released, and a curassow hung within the loop, its black feathers shining whenever the flames reached them. The snare had tightened around one leg and pulled the bird into a tangle of leaves. It beat its wings when it saw me, throwing dirt and broken feathers into the air. I approached from behind and caught both wings against its body before it could injure itself further. Its heart hammered beneath my fingers.

"I know," I murmured.

"I'm sorry." I killed it, freed the leg, and smoothed the feathers back into place. The bones were unbroken. That mattered. Crushed bone sent fragments into the flesh, and blood trapped beneath the skin spoiled faster. The snare itself required more attention. The curassow had pulled the guide stakes loose and scattered the leaves I'd used to narrow its approach. I returned the stakes to the earth, rebuilt the little walls on either side, and spread fruit across the centre.

When I finished, the path appeared natural again. A person might have noticed the changes if they knew where to look. A hungry bird would see fallen fruit and an easy way to reach it. The curassow joined the agouti in my sling. Its weight pulled against my shoulders, and the extra burden changed how my feet met the ground. I shortened my steps and allowed my staff to carry more of me. Each trap lay farther from the village than the one before it, following a path I'd designed around what my body could manage.

The spacing gave me places to rest without wasting time, and every stopping point offered water, fruit, or something useful enough to justify the pause. My third snare looked empty when I reached it. The sapling stood upright, the loop remained hidden, and the earth around it appeared undisturbed. I nearly continued onward before I noticed that the ground beneath a fallen log had changed. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Fresh soil formed a dark mound beside the wood.

I crouched and leaned closer. The little tunnel hadn't existed yesterday. Claw marks cut through the damp earth, and the opening was only wide enough for something low and broad. An armadillo had triggered the snare and immediately begun digging. I set the torch aside and followed the cord with my hands. It disappeared beneath the log, pulled tight enough to hum when I touched it. The armadillo had buried most of itself, leaving only the curve of its shell visible in the darkness.

"You're determined," I said. The shell shifted, and another clump of earth rolled toward my feet. Pulling would tighten the loop and injure the leg before I could reach it. I used my knife to widen the hole instead, scraping soil from around the shell a little at a time. The armadillo dug whenever I paused. I removed what it displaced and worked my fingers around the side of its body until I found the trapped leg. It twisted with surprising strength.

One claw raked across my wrist, leaving three shallow lines behind. I caught it beneath the shell, pulled it free of the hole, and ended the struggle before it could curl against me. The snare had survived. The entrance beneath the log hadn't. I filled the hole, packed the soil, and shifted the loop several handspans to the side. The armadillo had shown me a better route than the one I'd chosen.

Other animals would follow the edge of the disturbed ground rather than crossing it, and my new placement waited directly in their path. I tied the armadillo beneath the sling. The shell pressed uncomfortably against my lower back until I adjusted it twice. By then, my shoulders ached and my weaker leg had begun dragging through the leaves. Three traps. Three animals. It was already a good morning. The fourth made it better. The iguana had caught itself around the middle.

Its thick body lay pinned against a branch, and its tail whipped hard enough to strip leaves from the plants around it. When the torchlight touched its scales, it opened its mouth and swung toward me. It was enormous. Fat gathered beneath its jaw and around the base of its tail, while the long spines along its back rose like the teeth of a wooden saw. I'd seen longer iguanas, although few had carried this much meat. This one had fed well through the wet season and grown careless with abundance.

I smiled despite myself.

"My father will forgive every empty snare after he sees you." The iguana answered by lashing its tail across my staff. The impact jarred my hand and nearly knocked the wood away. I stepped beyond its reach and waited. It struck again, then again, spending its strength against empty air. Each sweep became slower than the last. The animal eventually lowered its head, sides expanding as it fought for breath. I caught the tail first.

My arms absorbed the next violent twist, and I leaned my weight backward until the iguana's body stretched away from me. It clawed at the earth, dragging itself forward one handspan at a time. I followed the movement, kept the tail extended, and worked my grip closer to its hips. Once I controlled the body, the head became easier. I pinned it, killed it, and sat beside it while feeling returned to my fingers. The iguana was too heavy for the sling with the other game.

I bound its legs together and hung it from a shaded branch above the trail. The hunters could collect it when they came through, or I could return with help after checking the river. Nothing would reach it easily, and the fresh blood would draw insects long before it drew anything larger. I marked the tree with three shallow cuts. Everyone in the tribe knew that sign and who used it. E'ru had left food here. Carry it home or use it brothers. The fourth snare needed to be rebuilt.

The iguana had twisted the loop around the branch and damaged the trigger, forcing me to cut a new piece of wood and carve another notch. I tested it with my hand, released it, and watched the sapling snap upright. Strong enough. I reset the loop and continued. The fifth trap had caught nothing. Its bait was gone, the loop lay flat, and the trigger remained untouched. Something small had reached through the side, stolen the fruit, and withdrawn without placing a foot inside.

Tiny prints marked the soil near the edge, blurred by dew and difficult to read in the weak light. I crouched until my face hovered close to them. Five toes. Claws. The front feet had pressed deeper than the back ones while the animal stretched toward the bait. A young coati, most likely. Clever enough to steal from me once. Perhaps clever enough to try again. I moved the bait farther inside and narrowed the approach with two thorned branches. If the coati returned, it would have to enter properly or leave hungry.

Four catches from five traps would have satisfied any hunter. They would have satisfied me most mornings. The sixth trap decided whether the morning would be remembered. I followed the descending trail toward the river. The air cooled as the ground dropped, and the smell of mud and slow water pushed through the sharper scents of crushed leaves and smoke. Frogs grew louder near the bank. Their calls overlapped until hundreds of throats seemed to produce a single rolling voice.

My final snare lay farther from the village than the others because there was nowhere else like it.