The successful introduction of the snares marked a turning point for Elias within the riverside community. He was no longer just the strange child who appeared from the forest; he was 'Elias,' the one whose 'new ideas' brought more food during the lean, cold months. This shift in perception was subtle but significant. The wary glances lessened, replaced by expressions of curiosity and, occasionally, genuine warmth. He was included more readily in village activities, taught not just words but also simple skills essential for their way of life – how to weave sturdy baskets from river reeds, how to identify medicinal plants (and which ones were poisonous), how to track small game by their prints.
His language skills continued to blossom. The initial halting, two-word sentences gave way to longer, more complex phrases. He could now participate in simple conversations, ask and answer questions with a degree of fluency that surprised even himself. His child's brain, unburdened by the linguistic habits of an adult, seemed to absorb the new language with remarkable speed and flexibility. He learned their names for the celestial bodies – the 'Sun-Eye' that gave warmth, the 'Moon-Twins' that danced in the night sky. He learned their stories, myths of powerful spirits dwelling in the trees and the river, tales of ancient heroes and fearsome beasts that roamed the wider world. These stories, while fantastical, also provided valuable insights into their culture, their fears, and their understanding of the world around them.
Elara, his patient tutor, often smiled at his rapid progress, her eyes holding a kindness that reminded him, distantly, of his own mother. Kaelen, the Chief, would sometimes sit with him by the fire, engaging him in slow, deliberate conversation, probing gently about his past. Elias maintained his vague story of falling from the sky, a tale that seemed to satisfy their need for an explanation, fitting neatly into their worldview of powerful, unseen forces. He learned Kaelen's history – how he had become Chief after a difficult challenge from a rival, how he had defended the village against a pack of shadow beasts years ago, leaving him with the distinctive scar.
As his understanding deepened, Elias began to notice other inefficiencies, other areas where his Earth knowledge could offer improvements. One of the most apparent was their tools. While functional, their stone axes and knives were crude, easily dulled, and required constant resharpening. This was time-consuming work, taking away from hunting, gathering, or other essential tasks. He knew that even simple metal tools, like bronze or iron, would be vastly superior in durability and effectiveness. But metalworking was a complex process, requiring mining, smelting, and forging – technologies far beyond the village's current capabilities.
He needed to start smaller, simpler. He thought about the tools he had seen in museums, the advancements made even within the Stone Age. What about improving the stone tools themselves?
He observed the villagers sharpening their tools. They used rough stones, rubbing the blades against them in a back-and-forth motion. It worked, but it was slow and resulted in edges that were often uneven and fragile. Elias remembered reading about different types of abrasives, about using finer-grained stones for a sharper edge, and about the technique of 'honing' – using a smoother stone to refine the edge after the initial sharpening.
He spent several days searching the riverbank, examining different stones. He was looking for a stone that was hard but with a finer, less coarse texture than the ones the villagers used for sharpening. He found a few promising candidates, smooth, dense stones with a slightly gritty feel.
He approached one of the men, a skilled toolmaker named Borin, who was painstakingly sharpening an axe head. Elias held out one of the stones he had found, then pointed to Borin's rough sharpening stone, making a gesture of comparison – his stone being 'better' or 'finer.'
Borin, a gruff man with calloused hands, looked at the stone in Elias's hand with a skeptical expression. He took it, felt its surface, then shrugged and went back to his work. The implied message was clear: this child's stone was no different from his own.
Elias didn't give up. He sat beside Borin, watching him work. When Borin finished the initial sharpening, Elias pointed to the axe blade, then to his finer stone, and made a gesture of rubbing the stone along the edge, mimicking the honing motion he envisioned. He repeated the gesture, trying to convey the idea of refining the edge.
Borin watched him, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He grunted, a sound that might have meant anything from annoyance to grudging curiosity. He handed the axe head to Elias.
Elias's small hands were clumsy, unused to such work. He took the finer stone and, carefully, trying to recall the diagrams he'd seen in books, began to rub it along the bevel of the axe blade. He used a lighter pressure than Borin had, focusing on creating a smooth, consistent edge. It was slow work, requiring concentration and a steady hand. He worked for a long time, the rhythmic scraping of stone on stone the only sound between them.
Borin watched him silently, his initial skepticism giving way to a focused intensity. He examined the blade after Elias had worked on it, running a calloused thumb cautiously along the edge. His eyes widened slightly. The edge was noticeably smoother, finer, and seemed sharper than his usual results.
He took the axe head back, tested its edge against a piece of scrap wood, then looked at Elias with a new expression – not just curiosity, but respect. He spoke, his voice rough but with a hint of awe. Elias didn't catch all the words, but he understood the tone. Borin then pointed to Elias's stone, then to the axe, and made a gesture of approval.
News of the 'clever child's' sharpening stone spread through the village's toolmakers. Elias, with Borin's help in translating and demonstrating, showed others how to identify and use the finer stones for honing. It became a new step in their toolmaking process. The result was tools that held their edge longer, making hunting, preparing food, and working with wood more efficient.
This small improvement, like the snares, had a tangible impact on their daily lives. It saved time and effort, making their struggle for survival a little less arduous. Elias's standing in the community grew further. He was no longer just 'the clever child,' but 'Elias, who makes the tools sharp.'
He continued to learn, to observe, to integrate. He participated in village activities, shared in their meals, and listened to their stories. He was becoming one of them, a child of the village, albeit one with a past they could not fathom and knowledge they did not possess.
The world outside the village remained vast and unknown, filled with both wonder and danger. He heard more stories of distant lands, of other peoples, of strange creatures and powerful magic. These tales fueled his curiosity, reminding him of the scale of the world he now inhabited. But for now, his focus remained on the small community that had taken him in. He was learning their ways, sharing his knowledge when he could, and finding a sense of belonging he hadn't realized he craved.
He sat by the fire one evening, watching the flames dance against the backdrop of the impossible sky. The sounds of the village settling down for the night were comforting – the murmur of voices, the crackling fire, the distant calls of the forest. He was a long way from his cubicle and his books, but in this moment, under this alien sky, he felt a quiet sense of purpose. He was Elias Thorne, and he was here.