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About an hour later, Johann awoke. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the soothing sounds of nature had calmed him to the point of dozing off. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Oldsmobill poking the small fire with a stick. He soon realized that the down-on-his-luck knight must have tried drying his clothes above the fire as well, for they were all singed a little around the edges. Johann yawned, and leaning up, saw a nice stack of dry clothes next to him. They were folded quite nicely.
"Thank you, Oldsmobill." he cheerfully said.
"They were beginning to smolder," the burlap knight laughed.
"No problem, I've heard that the burning smell of sweat-drenched clothes wards off predators and most flying insects."
Johann stretched and yawned again. He began packing up his little campsite, which was only a very thin bedroll (stuffed with straw and old belly-button lint), a couple of pots and pans, some eating utensils, and a small wooden bowl that had "The Olympic Games of 1120" engraved on the side.
Olds stared at the fire, thinking that he might be saying goodbye at this point. He knew that he couldn't return to Timbrook, for fear of what he might do. But, after a few moments, he came to realize that Johann didn't seem very interested in returning there either.
"How about we move to the east?" Johann chirped. "I've been tracking a nice flock of quail. The last time I saw them, they were heading in that direction." He pointed toward a small marshy area that looked a little drier than where they were.
"Quail sounds great!" Olds responded. He nodded his head rapidly while rubbing his gurgling belly. He offered to carry some of the utensils, as well as Johann's bedroll, and they started off eastward. Each of their footsteps made loud 'slish-slorking' sounds as they sank ankle-deep in the mud of the swamp.
"Don't worry, the footing's better once we go about fifty or so paces." Johann said, having pulled his shoes off and now holding them in his hands.
They traveled through the swamp and then through a marshy area that was full of grass. Slowly, the grassy area turned into a forest. Within a couple hundred paces, the soggy turf and occasional pools of water began to vanish, replaced by firm, moist soil, tall trees, and layers of dead leaves and pine needles. The musty, decaying odor of the wetlands was taken over by the vibrant, acrid smell of pine and cedar. They took the opportunity to acquaint themselves with one another, and they spoke freely in a light and casual way, though most of the conversation was about the weather and how best to slow-roast a polecat.
Frequently during their journey, Johann would reach down and pick up a nice-sized rock or stick, and slip it into a leather pouch that he wore around his shoulder.
They rested a few moments on a large log and Johann pulled a shirt out of his pack, along with a bit of twine. "Now, that we're in the forest, you'll need a little covering for your feet...them pine needles are mothers on the soles." He handed the cloth and twine to Olds and said: "Here, wrap them with this, it'll help a little."
After another fifty paces or so, Johann suddenly stopped and held his hand up. He slowly looked at Olds and whispered a shushing sound, before turning and staring at a large boulder flanked by two leafy krunchberry bushes.
"See that big rock over there, between those two bushes?' Johann whispered.
Olds nodded in the affirmative.
"There's a flock on the other side, probably 10 to 12 birds, I reckon. I heard them cooing as we walked up...wait a bit...hear that?"
Olds leaned his right ear toward the boulder. He didn't hear anything except for a nearby salamander being bullied by a toad.
He nodded 'yes' anyway.
"Ya gotta be careful," Johann added, "they're clever little birds." He turned and focused his attention on the rock for a few silent seconds, before once again turning to Olds. "But," he added, "I'm smarter." He accentuated that statement with a smile so big, it looked as if he was gnawing on a watermelon rind.
Olds grinned and nodded again. After all of the calamity that had been bestowed upon him the last few hours, he was hoping for a big meal. He was very hungry; and seeds, berries, and roots just weren't cutting it. Suddenly, he pictured Johann in a new light and perceived the squat, soggy mongrel as being a great hunter. Olds felt comforted by this thought. There was no doubt that Johann was good at tracking down his prey, he thought, and certainly knew his way around these parts.
Slowly crouching down, Olds was careful not to rustle any leaves. He watched, as Johann methodically crept up to the boulder like a great cat stalking its quarry.
'What an opportunity,' the blonde trooper pondered, 'to see a true hunter in action.' He had heard of such men — adventurous types, men of quick action and cunning, with an impeccable natural instinct. They were called many things: 'mountain men,' 'forest rangers,' and 'tree-huggers' ― rustic men who had come to know the ancient ways of nature and the importance of protecting the woodlands from further urban expansion.
Johann lightly stepped closer and closer. As he neared the boulder, he silently reached into his pouch.
Olds' skull slowly ticked diagonally. A look of confusion began to cover his face, as his ever-suspicious left eyebrow rose slightly.
Johann took two short, stealthy steps, before he inadvertently stepped upon a fallen branch. A loud 'crack' echoed through the forest. A flock of a dozen or so birds immediately took flight. At the first sound of flapping wings, and twittering calls of distress, Johann ran after the flock and began to throw handfuls of rocks at the fleeing quail. The projectiles bounced off of nearby trees, and the boulder, and ricocheted in every direction. One whizzed past Oldsmobill's head, which caused him to quickly duck. When Johann ran out of rocks, he threw a few sticks, a clump of dirt, a couple of chicken bones, a rusty can-opener, and finally, each one of his shoes, at the fleeing birds.
"Dammit!" he shouted, while watching the fowl disappear into the woods. Not a single one had even been grazed by his arsenal of flung objects.
Olds slumped and sighed. 'Was there just one person from the entire town of Timbrook that had the brains of a hedgehog?' he asked himself. He looked down at a stray chicken bone that now lay at his feet, 'Nope...probably not.'
Johann turned, still cursing. "I told you those birds were clever! Did you see how that one curved to the left? Clever birds! Clever, clever, clever...!"
Olds bit his lip, but couldn't hold it. "Geez!" he cried, "You didn't even come close!"
Johann stopped in his tracks and looked dumbfounded. "Huh?"
"You call that hunting?" Olds loudly asked.
"Yes!" Johann defiantly shouted back.
Olds sighed again. "Look, sneaking up on few birds and throwing rocks at them is not hunting! It is just...sneaking up on a few birds and throwing rocks at them!"
"Hey! I'll have you know that I am the greatest hunter in all of Timbrook!" Johann proudly replied, "Ask anybody!"
Olds sat down on the ground. "Good Lord, how?"
"Because I'm good at sneaking up on 'em."
Olds just laughed. "First of all, you're not exceptionally skilled at even that, but regardless, what good does that do? You would've had just a good a chance of hitting one of those birds from way back here...I mean, if all you're gonna do is chuck stones and chicken bones at 'em!"
Johann curled his lips and meekly muttered, "Well..." He then sighed and began to look around the area with an irritated look upon his face. After several minutes of searching through a patch of undergrowth, and around a few logs and tufts of grass, he narrowed his eyes and stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth. Hesitantly, he looked back and asked, "Hey, Olds, can you do me a favor?"
"What?"
"You didn't happen to see where my shoes went did you?"
After about fifteen minutes, they found Johann's grubby footwear. One was lodged in the hole of a tree trunk, while the other was found dangling in a nearby shrub.
"Don't worry, I'll get us something to eat before nightfall," the stout little Timbrookian spouted.
Oldsmobill was busy sharpening a stick with a pocketknife he had borrowed from Johann. "Really? Y'gonna start launching pots and pans at your next target?"
"No...but, hey! That's not a bad idea though!" He busied himself finding a large club-like tree limb, after which, he waved it in the air and exclaimed: "I'm really good at fishing!"
They both wandered over to a small pond where Johann showed Oldsmobill his fishing technique — which basically consisted of Johann wading into the water up to his knees and fiercely striking the surface repeatedly with the large club. Water engulfed him and even splashed on a bemused Oldsmobill sitting on the bank.
Not a single stunned fish rose to the surface.
After seeing Johann's hunting and fishing prowess firsthand, and feeling rather under-whelmed by the whole debacle, Olds decided that he had better take matters into his own hands or they would both eventually starve to death. He gathered several sticks , stones, and grass fibers, and quickly showed Johann how to make such weapons as a bow and arrow, a slingshot, a spear, and a fishing pole with a line and a hook.
The materials he used to fashion these devices were primitive, as were the devices themselves; but even so, Johann took some time to catch on to how such weaponry worked.
"No, the other way," Olds declared, pointing at the quickly constructed bow and arrow that Johann was trying to figure out.
"What?"
"The pointy part of the arrow goes in the other direction. The end with the feathers goes towards you."
"Oh," Johann laughingly responded, "I was wondering how you kept it on the string."
That evening they ate several perch and a catfish. Most were caught with a sharp, pronged spear, but Johann did manage to catch the catfish with a long pole, some twine, and a hook made from a safety pin he had kept in a little travel-sized sewing kit. To accompany their feast, Johann had collected some hairy tubers that smelled like gangrenous feet, but when boiled, tasted like sweet yams. Johann had also collected some savory herbs and pine needles that he made a nice pot of tea with.
"So, tell me Johann," Olds asked, while nibbling on a fish bone," you being the best hunter in all of Timbrook...which, pardon me for saying, isn't that impressive...I was wondering...how many times have you actually killed something?"
Johann peered upward. He was chewing a mouthful of mash. After he had swallowed it, he replied: "You mean something that isn't already dead?"
Olds leaned back, "Yes, for instance, how many quail have you actually caught using your...uh, technique?"
"A few," Johann snapped.
"Well, how many is that?"
"Oh, I don't know," Johann reached for the wooden spit and pulled off a large, blackened perch and placed it in his bowl.
"Thirty?" Olds persisted.
"Well..."
"Twenty?"
"Well..."
"Ten?" he asked, "Surely the greatest hunter in Timbrook has killed at least ten quail in his lifetime."
Johann took a bite of the perch, followed closely by a large spoonful of the mash. "Hmm..." he finally replied in an evasive tone.
"Five?" Olds asked.
Johann just hummed.
"Have you ever killed anything?"
The Timbrookian smiled, "Sure, I have. Hey, I wasn't lying when I said I was the greatest hunter in all of Timbrook. That's my title. No one knows my real last name. They all call me 'Johann the Hunter.'
Olds moaned, "I see..."
Johann pointed a spoon at Olds' skeptical expression. "Do you think that I would still be hunting that way if I hadn't ever killed anything?"
"I don't know," Oldsmobill chuckled, "what did you kill?"
"Well," Johann brashly answered, "One time...one of the rocks I tossed at a group of sparrows ricocheted off a tree...and beaned an unsuspecting chipmunk."
Olds started to laugh. "Impressive."
"The little bugger was hiding in a small bush about ten feet away."
"Very impressive."
"I stumbled upon it...luckily...while I was looking for one of my shoes."
They both started to laugh at this and Olds took a long drink of the flavorful tea Johann had made. "I can see why the people of Timbrook are such big wood-eaters," he laughed.
"Yea," Johann replied, "it's a lot easier to catch."
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