The worm, impaled on a hook which had been fashioned from a thorn, spun slowly, completely unaware of the large bass lurking only a few feet away. Suddenly the bass streaked forward, scales flashing, fins churning, teeth snapping. It was the ultimate freshwater predator, top dog of this river. It feared nothing. Its jaws snapped shut on the hook.
Up on the bank, Ales hooted with excitement. Then, as the fish began to swim off, he flicked his wrist, setting the hook, Thrashing wildly the bass broke the surface. With a tug on the line, Ales flipped it onto the bank. This was his fourth fish with two perch, a young pike, and now this bass. It was a good catch, but Ales was dissatisfied. His mother had said she wanted salmon, and though he knew she would be more than satisfied with his basket already, he wanted to get her what she sent him here for. But right now, it was time for lunch.
He scrambled up the bank and, grabbing his lunch pail with one hand, leaped straight up, caught a branch with his free hand and swung up into a crouch on the limb. It was an old elm tree he was sitting in. The branches covered in mossy patches, and the bark was beginning to whiten with age. But the branches were still strong, and in the crook where two crossed, Ales lay. Opening his lunch pail, he sniffed the contents and grinned. Fresh baked bread, aged cheese, smoked olives, and cold chicken. Each gave off their own scents, swirling together in an irresistible aroma, enticing Ales' nose, and making his mouth begin to water. Grinning, he reached in and snatched a leg of chicken. Leaning back into the natural seat he had found, he closed his eyes, took a huge bite and groaned in pleasure. His mother's cooking could make the simplest ingredients into a feast.
After he finished eating, he picked up his lunch pail and leaped off the branch. Catching on to a vine growing down from a higher branch, Ales swung to a different branch and jumped from there to a lower limb. From there it was only ten feet to the ground, and he dropped. Coming to his feet with a roll, he jogged down the bank and to the river, kneeling to wash his hands in the swift current. The water streamed around his hands, causing little underwater tornadoes as it picked up silt from the bank and spun it around. Straightening, he began to turn away when he spotted movement in the water. That instant, everything happened at once. The huge salmon, which had been lurking behind a boulder, made a dash upstream. At the same moment, Ales exploded into action. His left hand flashed out and grabbed the fish by the gills, throwing it seven feet in the air. Meanwhile, the right hand drew the wooden sword out of a back sheath where he always carried it. As the salmon came down, scales flashing in the sun, his arm slashed the blade at precisely the right moment. The sword thudded into the salmon's skull, shattering it and instantly killing the fish. The fish fell to the ground, and Ales dropped the sword in shock. He had seen a flash in the corner of his eye, and suddenly a large salmon was dead at his feet. Bending over, he picked up the dead fish and grunted with surprise. The monster weighed nearly sixty pounds, but he had thrown it with no trace of effort. And he had used his left hand! Ales looked down at his hands. They looked the same as always, but he had never had something like this happen before. He had always been strong and fast, surprisingly so, but this was almost inhuman, and he had not even thought about it. Somehow, his body saw the fish, and attacked without even asking his brain. Suddenly he staggered, overwhelmed with a sudden weariness that drowned out even his questions. Hefting the fish, he walked over to the base of the old elm and lay down. He looked up at the sun. It was just past noon. He had plenty of time to rest. Ales relaxed, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.
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