As guessed, the snake had moved from its spot, its tongue slowly guiding its way towards prey. My stomach ached at the thought. It was time for my prey to be caught. It trekked only fifty tabrins away, the ends of its tail just barely leaving a final branch.

  Meanwhile, the time to set up came. Standing below it, my hands took to the makeshift grip of the longest branch. Weak from hunger, it wobbled in my grasp as it rested on my shoulder. Like a giant club, rife with spikes, it spelt doom for the snake.

  Its tongue traced my scent, likely smelling it with my first approach. Its head turned with grace, its eyes catching sight of its doom. It hissed, but I moved first. The club went high, swinging over my head before the top of it bashed into its lengthy body. The wood held, the twigs scratching its scales before it started to come tumbling down. Half its body id on the forest floor while the other half remained perched on the trees.

  With a final heave, I brought the club back up before trying to sm it down on its head like a hammer. Quick for something so big, and my arms trembling after toiling in hunger, the blow missed it. That’s where the other branches came in. They lifted in my hands without strain.

  I broke the first one on its head, starting to whack it. Its body started to near, readying to constrict me. My feet circled, attempting to keep its body away from me. There was simply no way to break out of its hold if it could get me. Soon enough, the second branch broke in much the same fashion, then the third, and the forth. They only occasionally made their mark, half the time getting stuck in the mud and snapping when I pulled back.

  That left the fifth and final one in my hands. It went to my left, quaking and nearly limp in front of me. The right pulled out my sword. I rushed in, keeping the branch in front of me before throwing it on top of the snake to pin and distract it for a moment. With my sword, it made a broad stroke into its body, slicing as much as it could. The beast thrashed, wounded but not yet fully cut.

  It retreated, instinct telling it to preserve its own life. With fear in its heart, its death became ensured. I advanced again, baiting it to lunge out. It took three pokes until it got the message, hissing and uncoiling. Like a man spearing a wild boar, my sword went low as it pierced into its neck. With my freehand joining my other, I wretched the sword back up until it broke into its skull. It couldn’t make the final cut, dragging it around until it finally went limp.

  My heart was in my ears, each breath more ragged than the st. The scent of fresh blood wafted into my nose like a shark, eliciting a strained groan of victory from my stomach. My eyes stayed closed for a long moment, before, finally, they opened to meet the dead ones of the snake. Its life would fuel mine.

  Then I had to come fact to face with a fact not considered in the haste for sustenance. What was there to make a fire with? The dead branches were hardly dry, soaking up every heavy rainfall this pce gave. The brush was lush, the leaves not bereaved, and the wood hardly any good.

  My hands trailed over one of the branches. The bark scraped against my skin, rough and hard. Setting it down, my nails dug into any crack they could find in the branch’s armor, the nails bckened from work. With a heave, a good chunk of bark peeled off, no sap coming with it. It felt dry, perhaps dry enough to start a fire. I gathered up all of the loose twigs from earlier and set them down into pile that vaguely resembled a campfire, a little space open below to hopefully put the bark into.

  Sitting down with nothing but a stick in my hands and the bark ft out in front of me, inside facing up, I began to twist it. The pace started out fast, every groove of the coarse stick digging into my hands. Thankfully, none of these pnts seemed thorned. Although, my arms started to droop with every new push and pull, the once fierce momentum slowing down. I heard my own breathing coming in gasps from my nose, my stomach growling again at the effort. Through clenched teeth, my hands quickened again despite it all.

  Smoke filled my nose, enough to start grinning at. However, the coughing scent of ash only heralded a fire. Best not to stop at the finish line. With waning effort, unable to stop my body from ciming victory early, the fire slowly started to rise from the bark. Finally, removing the stick, my head came close to give a gentle blow of air. The small, smoldering red glowed to bright yellow until it took over the rest of the wood. Pcing some small twigs on the bark, I chucked it into the opening and waited.

  Returning to the snake, I hacked away at it, severing the head from the rest of its flesh. Then the question arose. How does one butcher a snake? It looked obvious at first gnce. Remove the scales, remove the skeleton, and then cook. A faint memory from watching a butcherer handle a snake told me to make a cut and peel the skin off.

  Making a straight cut on the underside of the body, I began to peel off the skin. The skin resisted each pull, feeling more like trying to pull a wagon than peel a snake’s skin. The difficulty could’ve been the results of my grumbling stomach as well. Around the halfway point, the skin ripped in one pce before it grew seconds, tearing the entire skin off. Considering what was pulled off was already longer than me, the other half of the carcass was cut off and kept close.

  While the fire grew, scraping out the innards appeared to be the most logical choice. The intestines and inner-workings of the snake came out like a charm, my hands throwing them off to the side. Let some wild animal more suited to snake flesh come and eat them. Soon, there was nothing but the skeleton left to deal with.

  Filleting it?

  It was something I only did on fish (probably a better choice than stumbling into the forest), but perhaps it could be done on a snake as well. Unlike other fillets, the snake already went through the skinning process. With not much other options than trying to rip out the skeleton, or maybe even seeing if I couldn’t pick off the meat when cooked (though if that would work was something that couldn’t risked), I dropped down to one knee and started the process of filleting it.

  One after another, slices of flesh started to come off the snake. What got cut off either had the problem of being sloppy or thick, a sword rather unwieldy for such a process. My trembling hand didn’t help the process. Yet, even so, they looked just as edible as ever. It all reminded me of primeval man, created with only swords in their hands. The knife had to be invented ter. Without any time to waste, the long strips of flesh were cut again until they were suitable.

  The fire grew rge, smoke billowing from it in waves. Setting up a bunch of sticks, each long piece of flesh roasted above the fire. My stomach growled at the sight of the first real food. Looking back at the rest of the carcass still unskinned, the process started all over again. Hopefully it wasn’t bad yet.

  Starting the process all over again, in between skinning and butchering, I flipped over the meat on their makeshift spikes, letting each side get cooked evenly. Then, by the time the rest of the snake had been cleared of its scales, a rank odor began to permeate it. It wafted out in direct contrast to the scent of smoke, charcoal, and sweet-sweet meat. The meat spoiled already.

  With a sigh and an involuntary growl from below, I took the carcass and skin, hauling it far away from the camp. Let other animals get the smell of death lest those scavengers happen upon the real prize cooking over a fire. In hindsight, killing the snake had been a demonstration of continuous luck along with the beast performing poorly rather than skill. If anything else caught a whiff of prey, a leopard or tiger of sorts, then death became certain.

  Back to the meat, my body enjoyed waiting, having to do nothing but sit around and turn over the flesh. The fire cackled, its fmes flickering and casting the dense forest in an orange light. The sun began to fade away above, giving way to the beautiful night sky and those uncommon comets rocketing from the north. The wind changed direction, flinging the smoke into my face. Then, with a final sniff of the air, the meat became wholly cooked.

  I took the many strips of meat off, enough to feed an entire family for weeks. Using a branch above the fire, I hung the flesh above to hopefully have it smoke even if for only a little bit. It was suboptimal, but my mouth watered at the sight of the meat held in my hands. The meat tasted dull and with little fvor, like trying to eat wood. Too overdone and too dry, it took chewing to get through. Yet, every bite had me wishing for the next. To my stomach, the meat had the same taste and smell as a five course meal meant for a king. Every spice and seasoning, pepper, salt, garlic, cinnamon, and whatever else existed all made into a perfect blend with a world-renowned chef at the heart of its making. All of that condensed into the bndest slice of snake meat there was.

  The first went down quickly, then the second, followed closely by the third until my stomach howled at fullness rather than emptiness. However, now having experienced both, bursting felt ten times better than gnawing hunger. Under the fading sky, my eyelids slowly blinked, opening less and less each time. The world closed as they refused to open.