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Flint's blue-green cotton tunic dried quickly, and when he
slipped it over his head, he was glad for the long hem that
dropped to his knees. His leather pants would take much
more time to dry. And he dearly missed his boots.
His stomach rumbled now, reminding him that he had
not eaten since that morning. Noticing fish in the shallow
stream, he knelt beside the water and pushed up his sleeve.
He dipped his hand in, slowly herding an unsuspecting rain-
bow trout to where he could raise his hand quickly and flip
the fish onto the shore. It took him four painstaking tries,
but finally a small trout, yet a good seven inches long, was
flopping around on the sandy cave floor. Flint quickly slit its
silvery belly with his carving knife, cleaned it, then skew-
ered the fish on a sharpened stick. He remembered seeing
some berries on his way to the cave, and while the fish was
roasting over the flames, he picked two handfuls of red
raspberries by the light of the waxing moon.
Only after his stomach was full of succulent fish and
sweet berries did he feel capable of thinking at all
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