After taking a few more satisfying gulps of water from the stream, the shirtless man set to the task of gathering the necessary materials for building a fire. He had been shown how to build a fire without the use of flint and steel but he'd never been able to use the method successfully. He was worried that he might end up wasting a lot of time and energy on a fruitless task. Suddenly he was more doubtful than ever about setting up camp in the clearing, but it didn't stop him from gathering as much wood as he could carry.
Some time later, he'd gathered what he felt was an appropriate amount of firewood and returned to the clearing. His eyes were once again drawn to the monument, but it stubbornly continued to safeguard its secrets from him. He set about preparing the fire by laying out a foundation of thick, dry branches. It had been difficult finding wood that wasn't still damp from the previous night's rain, but there were so many trees in the area that he eventually found what he was looking for. On top of the branches he laid down some smaller limbs and twigs. Finally, he set aside a small pile of bark and leaves for tinder.
With some apprehension, he laid out one final branch, which he stripped of bark as best he could. There was only so much he could do with his bare hands, especially as bruised and battered as they were. It had been the straightest, flattest piece of wood he could find. He was skeptical that it would serve his purposes, but he had little other choice. Hoping that his memories of what he'd been taught weren't failing him, he carefully gouged out a groove in the middle of the limb with a flat rock he'd collected earlier from the stream. After spreading the tinder around the gouge in the wood, he grabbed the thin, sturdy stick that lay beside him and began spinning it between his palms while applying pressure to the hole in the wood.
It was a slow, laborious process. His brother, adventurous as he was, impressed him many years ago by birthing fire with the technique, and even he experienced great difficulty in doing so. At the time he was unsure why he would even do it. After all, he had flint and steel available to him. He had been the kind of person that felt the need to be prepared for every eventuality. He was thankful for a moment that his brother had taken the time to show him how to do this, even if so far his efforts were proving completely fruitless.
Time stretched on eternally as the young man frantically spun the stick between his palms, and not a single spark flew. His sore hands ached even more painfully than before, but he dared not stop. He was sure that he was generating heat, and any minute now, a spark would fly and ignite the tinder, which he could then transfer to the kindling on the pile of wood. Miserably, he realized that even then he would have to hunt for his food, which was another adventure all its own.
Still more time passed, and his arms were screaming for relief. He grit his teeth and froze his expression into a grimace of determination. It was his fault that he was in this position. He had to take responsibility and not give up. He couldn't just keep walking with no destination. He had to learn how to live. He might never find civilization, might never find a soul who could help him. As always, he had no one to rely on but himself. He'd learned that so many years before but it had never rung so true until that day.
The man let out a shriek of frustration but still he applied pressure to the gouge in the wood, his muscles floating in a sea of white hot lava. The pain was impossible to ignore now, so he gave up trying. He let it all in. He let the pain flow through him but still he pushed himself harder, barely noticing the warm trickle of blood on his palms. He was so hungry now, as hungry as he had been earlier that morning. He wanted to release all of the pain built up in his body in one wave of frustration. He wanted to toss his head to the sky and scream. He felt the cold, sickly chill return to his body, felt it curdle his blood.
Before he could even consider what strange chemical reaction was occurring in his body, an unearthly bolt of violet light erupted from his gnarled hands, superheating the sturdy stick and igniting not just the tinder but the entire branch. The man pulled his hands away in shock and pain as a pillar of flame leapt from the wood. Simultaneously, the sickly chill drained from his limbs and all that was left was the extreme pain still arcing through his muscles and especially his palms. The man fell to his back and wept, momentarily oblivious to the still raging fire only a few feet away from him.
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