Fishing for Caribou (Preview)

Fishing for Caribou by Allen W. McLean

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Message of the Wisps

A necessity. \ Information must be shared, \ wisdom passed along.

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The spear pierced the riverbed. The wooden shaft jutted from the water’s surface, which refracted the spear to look bent like a bolt of lightning. The Spearthrower removed his loin and waded his bare feet into the water from the rocky riverbank. He hefted the pole free and held the butt in his armpit to surface the dark gold-green fish that his slate spearhead had caught.

As he held the dying fish above their home, Spearthrower closed his eyes and inhaled a breath. He let the flow’s sensations pass between his legs. The river rushed over and around his firm gut. A cold mist splashed on his chest-hair and beard. He felt another’s pulse, underwater, and the wisps showed him once again where to strike the surface. His spearhead had caught a second fish.

He stepped with care up the rocks and the sand of the bank to toss his haul on his loincloth, which he had left on the grass. Spearthrower had already made a small fire pit and a spit with the branches of a large maple that was growing into the river. He sat near the firepit’s warmth, but it was the high-noon sun that would dry his tanned-pink skin. His campsite was…