Entry 13 - Traps
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Hooray for lucky number 13.

You probably expect some tangent about how luck isn’t real and superstitions are stupid. But this isn’t reddit, and I’ve seen the things this universe is capable of. In fact I’ve spent a large part of my life working with universe-breaking science.

So let’s not test the limits of fate here.

I went back to the house (or the lean-to tent that I’ll replace with the house later) and spent most of the day bringing down trees. I’ll be using the purple trees as framing for the house. The brown trees will be good for furniture, flooring, or whatever else would be a waste of purple wood. I said before that the brown stuff gives off a horrible smell while they burn, so if anything that’ll be my smoke alarm if a candle falls over.

The black trees will be mostly for charcoal. It’s good to build up a supply ahead of time for ironworking.

Woke up to my stomach grumbling. I have to say, building and moving large objects is much easier when you have doordash. Now, an unimaginable eternity from earth, faced with the threat of starvation, I never thought I’d miss convenience fees.

And I was right. Screw you, doordash.

On Cirso, we were hunters, and tomorques were our main prey. What would the human equivalent be? Buffalo? Tomorques were smaller, and much more agile than buffalo, but they did run in herds across the plains. I remember sitting with the rest of the tribe, planning our tactic like a football game. Then we’d run, performing our maneuvers as planned. The trick was to separate the herd into smaller groups, narrowing them down. Most would end up running off, some would cluster into tiny groups.

We had to get them down to three before we could start going in for kills, though preferably you’d want to get them down to one. A quick jab to the chest with your spear, and you’d be the star of the feast that night.

I’m sure those purple-geese I’ve seen around here would make a good substitute, but there was another form of hunting we used less often: traps.

We had little use for them at the time. We wandered the plains, rarely staying in one place for long, and had all the meat we needed from our hunts. But every once in a while we’d dig a pit into the ground, cover the bottom with sharp rocks and sticks, and shroud it with woven grass. It wasn’t efficient, but other tribes would do the same. And sometimes, while travelling, you’d encounter a pit with a hundred pounds of meat in various stages of decay.

Nobody claimed ownership of the traps, they often took a long time to work, and meat rots quickly. So the unwritten law of the land was that pit-meat was first-come first-serve. That said, some tribes would put their symbol somewhere on it, just to let a passerby know who gave them their dinner. I’ve heard on occasion that some of these tribes would run into each other on a later date, and give them a token of supplies as thanks.

So that’s my long-winded explanation as to why I’m currently digging a hole.

With enough of these around, I should have plenty of yummy meatsacks specimens and protein to keep my mind and my stomach fed.

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