Spritelings Chapter 01

"Well, maybe the little spider's right. We should feed the big guy now if the slowpokes are gonna ride on them."

Compared to the beetle Mara is probably a slowpoke themselves on a long hike, but they'll find that out the hard way a couple hours later. After they wear themselves out trying to keep up.

"Hey, big fella! Are you strictly roots and leaves or should I get you some fish? And have you got a name?"

The river does look like a promising source of food - perhaps twice as plentiful than hunting or gathering, if one takes the right approach. And the good thing is that fish are likely to travel a lot along the river, meaning that a fishing spot may remain relatively sustainable in the long term. (As contrasted against gathering clams, which is just as bountiful a source of food, but more prone to overconsumption as the clams aren't as inclined to travel and fill an emptied area.)

The chilly early spring water is concerning though - it would be great to get some warmth after diving to chase some fish.

"If we aren't leaving now I'll chase down some of those fish as well. Like I suggested earlier, we seem different enough to have our own methods to gather food so it would make sense to split up and gather back together in an hour. I'm sure others would be better equipped to dig up roots or clams, pick out the lesser mushrooms, chase down mice and raid nests. I would appreciate that ride after all."

"Um, name?...no," the beetle says, head sagging down. "Do I still get food? I like, um, everything! I can trade, too! I give ride!! Give ride for food!"

Looking around, Smaugalir does seem oblivious to such things as finding or catching food. Apparently, there is no hunger, either, so far. But at least this spiritling uses their height to scan the surroundings.

There's not much, or anything, else to see that wasn't already seen (between the overview from the treetop and the look up close). Which does mean there aren't any big dangerous predators around either. Nor any friendly beasts to become acquainted with. At least not here. Which may or may not end up changing far away from the island.

The little spider bristles at the idea that stupid Mara-thing could catch more food than her. And that no one has eaten the tasty mealworm. Nemma tears into the unfortunate morsel with more force than necessary, guzzling its guts down before devouring the exoskeleton.

Violence, visited upon another, has always been calming. After all, it means you're not being hurt.

She skitters off for better prey: not far, but away from big noises and shaking shadows. Quiet. Stealth.

HURT.

A bird, smug in its sky, would be perfect. To break its wings and crush its body with her jaws. See how smug swoop bird is then.

"Well if you haven't got a name either then I'm gonna call you... Bigs!"

Maybe Mara is the only spriteling with a name? Probably because those old mushrooms intended them to be the leader. They were going to find a sturdy looking branch to go spearfishing, but if they're the leader...

Hey! Spidey! Can you make a fishing net? We could catch a whole bunch from the bridge!

Rage. Rage. RAGE.

"NEMMA." With all the speed and deftness of a thousand thousand spiders, the spriteling spider weaves a webbed net, composed of her name in giant bold letters. At the center, an image of a marten, its head improbably placed up its own butthole.

"If you string out the net then I'll drive them into it."

The bridge does offer a nice place to fish with a net without getting wet in the chilly spring waters.

Though before that could be done, a net of thin yet sufficiently sturdy threads would need to be weaved, and that would take Nemma some time. Of course, each separate fisher would need a separate net. Or, alternatively, a proportionally bigger net could be handled by multiple fishers if desired.

In any case, the snake will go diving for fish and toss them up onto the bridge until any net is woven

One and a half hours later, the spider is finally done weaving the fishing net, Smaugalir managed to find a meaty bug or two, the beetle dug up around for some mushrooms, the snake managed to catch a few fishes and get a bit colder than comfortable (but nothing drastic), 2½ food, and the marten managed to track some rodents to their burrow.

Seeing that the net has been completed Snakey comes to inspect it
"Yes, this looks well-woven; it should catch fish later. Now that none of us are in the middle of things, lets take a break to have a meal"
She grabs one fish and brings it to the beetle
"Here you go, a fish for a ride"

The newly-christened Bigs happily accepts the fish, greedily slurping it down their gullet (along with any other offered food). They lower themselves to the ground for any willing spritelings to hop on.

Snakey goes back to get a fish for themselves, eats it and then curls up on top of the beetle

Sharing a meal seems to be quite normal for Smaugalir and is dealt with numerically rather than according to taste.

Once the meal is over, the long legs are ready to cover more ground. Perhaps with a few jumps in between.

"How long will it take us to get there? After all, we're not made to just look, we have to do something, achieve goals. Help the Ring."

"We don't know how far we have to go, so we might as well get moving if we're all ready and see when we get there"

Achieve. Goal? Take a break??

Nemma ponders the new words as she, with a curt bow to the big shadow (for such a small creature, her grudges are large and long-lasting), crawls aboard. She brings her net along: if it can be used again, most good, but otherwise it will make a fine meal on the journey. Also, she is fond of the art at the center, though she hardly dares admit it to herself.

Unwise to grow attached to something so fragile, so temporary.

Instead, she ponders the new words. Achieve and goal, easy enough. But "take a break"? What could it mean? To forcibly seize a crack or damage of some kind?

If her pride was not so wounded, perhaps she would have been willing to expose the soft belly of her ignorance to the ones she had yet to start considering companions. But instead, she spun the strange combination of words over and over again. Take a break. Break a take. Take a break. Pleasing in its rhythm, maddening in its meaning.

As you travel along the shore, the sun climbs into zenith and warms the ground. More and more snow melts, making the ground slightly muddy, at least in sections where young grass hasn't already began sprouting from beneath. It looks almost as if you're bringing about the spring blooms as you travel, though it would be presumptuous to think this is what is trully happening.

On the southeastern shore, you can see more of the charred trees, even for a while after you pass the triangular island's corner, but eventually they give way to a emptier shore, where only smaller bushes can be found.

At one point, you see a river turtle swimming against the stream.On the far shore, here and there groups of beavers are slapping together some lairs out of mud and old branches - there doesn't seem to be enough good reeds growing nearby yet, so the lair seems poorly constructed. Then again, maybe it's just that they are not as smart and skilled as spritelings when it comes to crafting.

A couple of hours past noon, you arrive at the fork where the small river joins the big one. It seems relatively easy to find a shallow section and cross the small river if you want to, while the big one is about as challenging to cross as where you built a bridge - and there are no conveniently sized trees nearby.