the zen of autumn fishing

Theodoric Martin · 11-02-2010, 11:17 PM

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Big Grin (wc: 301)

As mentioned previously, Theodoric wasn’t much of a fisherman. He had learned to wrangle with hook, line, and pole; he had even managed to find a few insects for bait. With an upbringing like his, even the waiting wasn’t so bad because he knew the value of patience. Theo’s problem, therefore, was what to do once the fish was finally on the line. He knew the basics: give the fish time to bite down on the hook; pull it in quickly, but not too quickly. Despite the frustration of losing fish, Theodoric did think his trouble was fair: the fish, after all, were fighting for their lives. He would expect no less from a rabbit or deer on a hunt.

This time, the fish had taken the bait but the hook had not lodged securely in its mouth. Theo pulled on the fishing line, the hook popped out, and the fish swam free. (Theo swore it flipped its tail once before it swam away just to sass him). “Drat,” he muttered, in an expletive milder than he felt. That was dinner that just got away. He was in the presence of a young lady, however, and he would mind his manners. Besides, the afternoon was still young. Maybe he would get lucky a second time.

He was casting about for more bait when his silent companion finally addressed him. “And she speaks!” he teased, his Scottish accent distinct in the autumn air, “Why so silent, madam? Your voice is as lovely as your smile.” Theodoric hoped to use humor to set the young woman at ease; he hoped the not-so-subtle flattery would not have the opposite effect instead. He chattered away, hoping to push the conversation forward. “Please, th’ name’s Theodoric. Have you had any luck fishing, miss?”

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