Damian's sudden arrival had clearly made the snake feel threatened.
The fer-de-lance coiled its entire body into a tight spiral, its tail rattling furiously against the dry grass, filling the air with an ominous rustling warning.
Both of Damian's hands tightened around the long spear. His heart pounded against his ribs.
One bite and it would be instant death. No antidote, no second chance.
The coiled viper suddenly reared the front half of its body and struck like a brown lightning bolt straight at Damian's left leg.
Damian jerked backward two steps and thrust the spear forward. The snake's open jaws slammed into the wooden shaft and were deflected with a sharp thud.
[Hunting Experience +1]
The fer-de-lance was not ready to give up. Its thick body flexed like a spring and it launched again, faster this time.
Damian raised the spear to parry. The impact vibrated all the way up his arms.
[Hunting Experience +1]
The pressure of standing on the edge of death sharpened every sense. Damian's breathing slowed; his eyes locked on the snake's flat, murderous head.
Rustle… rustle… rustle…
The tail still shook, but slower now. The viper was gathering strength for a third strike.
Damian saw the head dip lower, preparing to lunge.
He didn't wait.
With a sharp battle cry he drove the flint-tipped spear downward in a single, decisive thrust.
The blade punched clean through the fer-de-lance's skull and buried itself deep into the soil.
The snake's body instantly whipped into violent coils, wrapping itself around the spear shaft in its death throes, trying to constrict the very thing that had killed it.
Damian released the spear and leapt back two paces, chest heaving, eyes never leaving the dying reptile.
Only when the thrashing finally stopped and the white belly flipped upward did he dare to breathe again.
[Fer-de-lance]: Deceased. Venom glands intact. Meat edible after removal of head and entrails.
Damian approached cautiously, yanked the spear free, and lifted the snake's body. Even without the head it still weighed close to three pounds.
He hesitated for only a heartbeat, then decided: tonight it would be dinner.
Using the flint knife he severed the head completely and buried it deep in the hole the spear had made. No point letting some curious scavenger dig it up.
Carrying the headless carcass, he continued toward the Latifa River.
The shallows were crystal clear in the late afternoon sun. Fat bass darted beneath the surface.
Damian knelt, drank his fill of the cold water, then stripped and scrubbed the day's sweat and grime from his skin.
Half an hour later, refreshed and alert again, he spotted something half-buried in the reeds: an oval clay object.
[Damaged Medium Pottery Pot]: Can cook food, boil water, etc.
A grin split his face. This changed everything.
He scrubbed the pot with sand and grass until it gleamed, filled it with river water, and hauled two fallen logs back to his clearing.
The sun was already kissing the mountain peaks when he finally coaxed a fire to life. Sparks danced upward into the darkening sky.
Awoooo… awoooo…
From the distant forest edge came the first chilling howls of the wolves.
Pairs of yellow-green eyes began to glow in the shadows, watching, waiting.
Damian added more wood to the fire and sat with the spear across his knees, the headless fer-de-lance already skewered and turning slowly over the flames.
Tonight he would eat.
Tomorrow he would begin building an empire.