Sapienophobia

Chapter 21

That day would initiate my battles with the predators of the Murks.

Predators that I could beat, of course. Large vermin, those who ate my tutors.

I needed to test all the ideas I had when studying. I brought nets and ropes with me for crafting traps; it concerned me that they were plenty around the guild.

The materials' heaviness reminded me to stretch before entering.

My clothes were more earthen camouflage since I'd be hunting from the ground to not be seen rather than trying to not interrupt what I needed to see. I had Herl retrieve them for me while I had him on deceptive book duty. He gave in after a bit of monologuing.

During my searches, sharpening my other senses was key. Attentiveness in my hearing and smell would have spared me another run-in with greater predators that my eyes would otherwise warn me of too late.

The birds were the first to befall the aim of my schemes. The avians' flight patterns were unpredictable or they had an order I couldn't understand.

I avoided climbing trees to invade their homes and went to the bug territory to wait for them to get hungry. My arms couldn't match their speed. No land trap would work on them and trying to lasso them in with a net was fruitless. My good hand did the throwing while my second-best held the rope for security and retrieval.

Either the bird was too small and slipped through the holes or the bird would thrash and worm its way out before I could get to it. I pouted at my near victories and reevaluated my technique.

Out of the ten times I'm throwing the net, I'm only catching a bird every two times or so. There has to be something more efficient. I need to slow them down.
It's not that they're fast, it's that I'm slow.

My forearms were sore.

No more lassoing.

I tried chucking rocks at the nests that were too high up. I hit one.

My aim is terrible, but at least I know I can use that as a last-ditch option.

The parent occupying it chased me. My deer training came in handy as I was amazed that I could evade it. Its approach to territorial defense must have been different from that of eluding me.

If you're going to be frightened of me, be frightened of me in all situations, I huffed, covering the ear that got pecked.

Their magic was making illusional duplicates of themselves, a tactic better suited for prey. And even then, it would fail to confuse the enemy if one could see the original when the copy manifested itself.
Knowing which bird was which didn't mean I could catch them, however. I surmised to make a sticky solution to keep the birds from moving if they landed on it.

The first one was too runny so I added more cleavers. The second one was too thick and I could only use it in a small area after scuffling to get it out of my mortar. The third batch, expectedly, had a perfect balance of viscosity and moisture; it spread like cream.

I placed it on the lower branches of the trees surrounding the feeding territories. And then I waited.

No birds landed there. They went straight to the beetles on the trunks and flew away when I approached.

Maybe it's the smell of the solution.

The paste was a dark brown, but it was a little darker than the branch of the tree. Mixing mud in to perfect its color would ruin its effects.

I brought back out the mortar and pestle. With a small prayer, I grounded a beetle in the mix before reapplying it to the branches. As an extra measure, I tossed an intact shieldbug onto the branch, it struggled but was just about waiting for death in its position. I hoped that these additions were enough.

I backed away to wait for my quarry to reappear.

A sparrow landed. It stopped, swallowing the bug whole before flapping to take off as I revealed myself. Its feet didn't leave the branch.

I've got it.

I practically danced over to the avian whose thrashing became more violent with our closing proximities. I had bandaged my hands so that when it inevitably snapped at me, I wouldn't need to retreat. I didn't intend to harm it, though its reaction said otherwise. But amidst its attempts to eat me while I was prying its legs away from the glue, I hesitated.

Shouldn't I kill it? It would be good practice for Sod.

I looked at the bird's desperate fight for survival. Its constant flapping and twisting caused its wing to stick to the branch as well.

I don't think I'd fight that hard.
In your position, I'd just wet myself and brace myself for the end.
Don't jinx it.
It should be fine, right?

I brought out one of Father's scalpels, now dirtied with gunk I picked up from somewhere. Its reflection was blurred as a result of the temperate humidity. I couldn't see my expression in it.

Some people eat birds.

It's not just that I was scared of killing it, it was that I was scared of not killing it. What it would mean if an Anide butcher on his first bounty didn't have the strength to kill a bird he caught as practice for said bounty.

All I had to do was weigh those fears.

So it's either be a coward or be a coward. Does choosing the less scary option make me more of one?

I lifted Father's scalpel over my head. The bird was unaware of its impending doom; it hadn't resisted more than it already was.

I averted my gaze when I brought the scalpel down, the sparrow's shrieking was muffled by it choking on its own blood. I twisted the knife to grant it a swift death. It was a kinder fate than the wolves would've offered.

For every gurgle the bird choked out, my heart doubled its rate.

From the handle's stiffness, I knew it was dead. I kept my head down when I yanked out the knife with some resistance. I peeled off the rest of my nail's edge that had chipped. The cries were preferable to the silence that came after.

I didn't think it would be this hard.

Taking it down would have been meaningless so I left it. The scavengers would've handled the carcass.