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I got home last time I tried to read about what it was like, you know, before we got everything we have now. In colonial times they kept people awake just to watch the fires, and in ancient times the most important person in the tribe was called the fire watcher.”
    Derek wrote it down and Brian smiled. Something about Derek walking around all day looking for berries and nuts, carrying a briefcase like a business executive, seemed ridiculous. But he meant what he was doing and Brian liked him more and more all the time. When he’d fallen and Derek had kneeled next to him, he had been genuinely worried.
    Fire.
    There was a lowering of light now and evening would not be long, accompanied by the waiting bugs.
    He and Derek made a small fire pit in front of the overhang. Then Brian put the tinder on the ground in the pit so that the flame cup was aimed upward.
    Over this he held the piece of flint.
    He struck it with the knife and nothing came.
    Naturally, he thought. If it were easy, everybody would want to do this.
    He hit again and again and finally the sparks came. Now he slammed the stone with the back of the knife blade with renewed force, again and again until a small shower of sparks fell into the cup.
    Quickly he raised the tinder in his hand, blowing gently, softly on the sparks, watching as they became glowing holes in the tinder and the holes grew, became red, turned to coals and finally, blowing as he put it back on the ground, smoke curling up into his eyes, there came the tiny flicker of new flame.
    Hello
, he thought—
hello, flame
. Fire.
    He fed small twigs to the flame, crossing them and recrossing them until the fire was full, healthy. Then he added larger sticks and still larger until they filled the pit and there was the crackling sound of a full fire.
    Brian settled back on his haunches and smiled; looked up at Derek, who was also smiling.
    Brian gestured around with his hand. “No more mosquitoes—the smoke keeps them away. It doesn’t even take much, just a little blowing around. But we need more wood.”
    They took the next hour to gather wood, stacking it until they had a large pile to the side of the camp, and Derek used the time to cut pine boughs for beds as well. When it was late, and they finally lay back to rest, they had done much to make the overhang a home.
    Brian went to sleep on his side. The last thing he heard before he dozed was the sound of a wolf. He heard Derek rise.
    “It’s a wolf,” Brian said. “Far away, just singing. Besides, wolves don’t bother you. You can go back to sleep.”
    And Derek did, rolling over, his breathing even, and Brian let sleep come again.

9
    B rian stood away from the fish trap and shook his head.
    Nothing was the same, really.
    It was a beautiful day, with the mid-afternoon sun shining down on them, and he thought of what the problem could be, what was wrong.
    It had somehow turned into one big happy camping trip.
    We might as well have a cooler full of soft drinks and sandwiches, Brian thought.
    They’d been at the lake three days, but it looked like they’d been there a year. The camp was squared away and neat. Derek had called in on the radio and told the world they were all right, telling them to pass the information on to Brian’s parents—Brian thought his mother might worry if she knew about them sending the gear back. Then they had enhanced the beds and made them deep and soft with more boughs, there was enough firewood for a month, and they had made birch-bark containers to hold extra hazelnuts and berries.
    They’d found blueberries and raspberries and plums. On this side of the lake the forest was more open and the plums and nuts and berries seemed to thrive in the light and heat.
    Wild plums. They were a little green, but even so, Brian couldn’t believe how sweet and rich they were—like small, domestic plums, with a little more tang to them.
    Brian had made a bow, used a strip from his belt for a string, and had shown Derek