Finding food was one of the most important tasks.

  Hunting became the most natural way for him to feed himself, the same way it had been at the beginning of human history. Dan spent a long time studying the land. Every morning he climbed a small rise and watched the valley below. He observed the paths animals used and the habits of the herds. He knew that chasing blindly would get him killed. Patience decided everything here.

  His first catch was a small antelope. He made a simple trap. He dug a pit near an animal trail and covered it with branches, leaves, and a thin layer of soil. When he heard a dull thud and a panicked cry, he ran there with a sharpened spear and finished the animal quickly. No suffering.

  A kill was not a triumph. It was food, blood, hide, sinew, and bone. He used everything.

  Later he began making snares. From hides and sinews he twisted thin but strong loops. He set them along the narrow paths where rabbits and small animals ran. Sometimes a bird got caught.

  The first snares broke. The sinews could not hold the tension. Once a rabbit escaped and left nothing but a tuft of fur behind. That was when he understood that strength alone was not enough. Skill mattered more.

  After that he started making spears. He searched for straight, hard branches, burned the tips in the fire, and sharpened them with stone. Some he improved with stone points that he fixed in place with resin and sinew. Then he practiced throwing them. Again and again. He trained until he could hit a target from ten steps away. It took longer than he expected. Still, the time was not wasted.

  One day he tracked a boar moving through the bushes. His chest tightened. If he missed, the animal could kill him. He crawled closer from downwind, rose with the spear ready, and threw.

  The spear flew a little wide, but the boar had no time to turn. The second strike was true.

  After that came blood, butchering, and a steaming piece of liver by the fire. Dan felt neither victory nor guilt. His hunger was gone. The blood dried on his hands and it felt natural.

  When spears and snares became routine, Dan realized he needed something more. More distance. More precision. More control.

  He began thinking about a bow.

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  He remembered the basics from army training where instructors once showed how old weapons worked. The idea was simple. The real challenge was the materials. He searched for a long time before finding wood with the right flexibility. It could not be too dry or too brittle.

  A curved branch from a wild shrub turned out to be perfect. It almost looked like nature had already shaped it into a bow. He cleaned it, warmed it over a low fire, dried it, and carved it with a stone knife. The bowstring came from twisted sinews taken from the boar.

  His first arrows were crude. Straight sticks with sharpened tips hardened in the fire. Later he improved them. He set thin flakes of flint or obsidian into the points and fixed them with resin and sinew. At the back he added feathers he found after storms. The feathers helped stabilize the flight.

  He practiced for days at a time. He shot at targets cut from bark, at bundles of grass, at stones in the water. He kept going until his hand felt like an extension of the bow. His experience with the spear helped. Learning the bow did not take as long as he feared. Dan had always had a strong imagination. It helped him picture the path of the arrow before he released it.

  Now hunting became almost silent. He could move close to a herd and choose the weakest or the nearest animal. No shouting. No chaos. Just a soft whistle through the air and the arrow struck the side of the animal, fast and precise. The animal fell and the rest of the herd scattered.

  Once he brought down an antelope from nearly twice the distance he could throw a spear.

  The bow became his main weapon. His fingers grew thick with calluses but he hardly noticed. He made arrows in advance and kept them in a leather quiver on his back. Now he went hunting like a quiet and careful warrior. If he was especially hungry, he could even knock a bird from a tree.

  Fishing came later, once he had settled a little.

  The river that flowed around the island was full of life. In the clear water he could see dark fast fish with silver scales sliding through the current. At first he tried catching them with his hands. It felt more like a game than hunting.

  Later he made a harpoon. It was a sharpened stick with small barbs, hardened in fire so it would not split.

  He stood in the water up to his waist for long stretches of time. The wind pulled at his hair and the sun made his eyes sting. A shadow flashed under the surface and he threw the harpoon.

  Miss.

  He waited again.

  The third time he hit.

  His heart jumped as if he had just been in a real fight.

  Later he built a proper fishing rod. A long straight branch served as the rod. Sinew became the line and a bone hook finished it. For bait he used larvae or small pieces of meat. The fish bit eagerly, especially in the morning and near sunset.

  He could dry the catch, smoke it, or boil it in clay pots he had shaped himself.

  He even built a fish trap. It was a woven cone made from branches with a narrow entrance. He placed it in shallow water between rocks and guided fish toward the opening. By morning the trap often held five or six fish.

  Hunting and fishing became part of his daily life. Still, it never felt mechanical.

  There was something ancient in it.

  He was no longer a stranger in this world.

  He had become part of the circle.

  A predator, not for the sake of killing, but for the sake of living.

  Traps, weapons, routine. Dan is no longer reacting. He is planning.