“Come on! Light … you pile … of crap!” Malky was panting light an asthmatic, and despite the sweat dripping down his nose, he was shivering in the biting cold air. He continued to saw with his crescent-shaped bow, made of a stick and shoelace, drilling a second stick into a flat piece below. This was his bow drill firestarter and it was managing to frustrate him to no end.
Four hours of struggling had left him with stiff, bleeding and calloused fingers, unquenchable thirst and no bloody fire to show for it.
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