For lunch, I caught a couple of perch and was lucky enough to wander into a patch of yellow squash. They weren't my favorite--the squash was going to be bland without salt--but any new food was a win.

Back at the glen, the dagger made quick work of gutting the perch, and I staked them both next to the fire. I cleaned the stone plate and put the squash on it to bake.

“Yep, just as easy as I thought,” I said, admiring the dagger.

By this time, the otter was at the pool’s edge, her eyes moving between the grilling fish and the dagger. I invited her over to join me for lunch.

She happily hopped out of the water and investigated the tools I’d made. I showed her how each worked, and even started my next project so that she could watch.

I had kept the parasitic worms’ bone spikes. Each was a foot long and started as thin as an ice pick at the tip and flared to an inch in diameter at the base. Below the base was a natural tang four inches long. (The tang was buried inside the worm and kept the point stable.) My plan was to create a pommel for the tang and turn the spikes into stilettos.

I started by sorting through the wood on hand. There were two pieces of ash and one of hickory with the right dimensions. I trimmed the pieces and split them lengthwise. Carving space for the tangs was delicate work. The fit had to be tight, or else the “blades” would jiggle. The otter watched intently as I used the dagger’s tip to dig out and shape the wood.

Partway through, it smelled like the fish were done grilling, so we stopped for lunch. The perch were delicious, but the otter didn’t much care for the squash. Neither did I. I still ate it though.

After lunch, I went back to work on the stilettos. I tested the tangs in each pommel half. They were too tight, but that was okay--removing wood was easy. Better that than starting over because I’d gone too fast and whittled away too much.

Once the fit was good, I smeared the pommel halves with pitch, fit the tangs inside, and lashed them together.

“These are good,” I said, “but not the same as the dagger. All the stilettos can do is puncture, while the dagger can both puncture and slash. Plus the dagger’s metal and a lot more sturdy.” I sighed in admiration.

The otter gave me a heavily-lidded look. She gestured with her paw. Come on. Out with it. What do you want for the dagger?

Well, maybe I had been laying it on thick. But I wasn’t embarrassed. Not too much anyway. All that mattered is that she wanted to trade.

I sat opposite her, and put the dagger on the ground between us. Then I made a bowl-shape with my hands and put it next to the dagger.

She was confused and hesitated before pulling a stone bowl from her fur pocket and placing it next to the dagger.

Through gesture, I asked for permission to pick up the bowl, which she granted. I filled the bowl with water and brought it back to where we were sitting.

Now came the hard part.

I picked up the dagger and mimed cutting myself. My fingers made explosions to show blood spurting out. I grasped the pretend wound and grimaced. Picking up the bowl, I hurriedly wriggled my fingers over the water and poured it onto the wound. My face eased in relief.

The otter looked me up and down, still confused. It was obvious I wasn’t injured and didn’t need her healing.

I gestured towards her and wriggled my fingers. I gestured to myself and repeated the motion. Each time the sequence of finger waving got more complicated. Each time, I “learned” the sequence. Then I moved off by myself and pretended to be working a piece of wood with the dagger. I accidently cut myself, but instead of panicking, I wriggled my fingers over the water and splashed it onto the wound. Satisfied, I went back to work.

The otter’s eyes were thoughtful. She understood that I wanted her to teach me healing magic in exchange for the dagger.

I returned the bowl and waited for her decision. After twenty minutes, I realized it was going to be a long wait and started on my next project: a stickbow. I figured I’d get some work done and continue to advertise the dagger’s worth.

The bowstave was five feet long and two inches in diameter. The wood was slightly curved along the entire length, and one side was covered in bark.

I began by stripping the bark. Some of it came off by pulling it free, and some I was able to pry up using the dagger. For the stubborn bits, I held the stave between my legs and used the draw knife to carefully scrape the bark away.

There was a knot in the wood, but if I cut away from the top of the stave, I could bring the knot closer to the middle where the wood didn’t need to bend. I switched to the handaxe to chop away the excess wood from the top and then back to the dagger to narrow the end. Then I narrowed the bottom end and carved notches in both for the bowstring.

The otter sat on her haunches, her arms folded, deep in thought. She really was going to be a while, so I started thinking about the next phase.

The bowstave was too thick and needed an inch trimmed away; maybe more depending on how hard it would be to draw the bowstring back. I could work slowly and shave the wood using the draw knife or go faster by using the adze and then shaving the excess.

Decisions, decisions.

I hadn’t invested much time into the bow yet, but it was an awfully nice stave. It’d take time to find another so good.

With a sigh, I started the long journey of shaving the wood down. I placed the bowstave between my legs and, starting from the middle, pulled the draw knife towards me. It was like rowing a boat, pulling and pulling the draw knife across the bow’s belly, except at the end of the river there was a bow waiting for me.

More like Princess Peach in another castle. There was the other end of the bow to do after all.

Eventually though, both ends were done, and the Princess was there to greet me. Sweat poured down my face and my back burned with fatigue, but I couldn’t help but smile. I had some braided cord ready and strung the bow for the first time.

She wasn’t ready yet--not by a longshot--but she had personality already; edgy but dependable, like the goth girl in class, the one who studied and liked to read. Okay, that was a weird association. I’m not sure why I was reminded of Emily Jerichs. And there was no way I was naming my new bow after an old crush.

Lily was a pretty name though. Not quite the same, and the knot in the wood looked a little like a lily. “I dub thee Princess Lily." I shook my head at own antics. ”Stop being weird, Ollie, and keep working.”

The bow gave me a good feeling though, even as unpolished and homemade as she was. I’d owned and shot several over the years, but this was the first I’d ever made. Dang, but I should’ve done it sooner. There was real satisfaction in it. Lesson learned. Lesson learned.

Drawing the bow, I saw that the top and bottom weren’t even when they bent. I unstrung her and tillered the two ends, shaving the wood until they’d synced. I was maybe (just maybe) a little picky and spent more time tillering than necessary.

By the time I was done, the sun was just above the cliff face, throwing the pool into shadow. Only the tops of the trees glowed golden in the dying light.

The otter looked up. There was doubt in her eyes, and something else. Possibility?

On my status page, I gained a new Skill:

Barter 3