They had arrived very early. Even after fishing for a while, the chilly morning light piercing through the thin mist had only just faded. Once the sunlight grew brighter, everything felt a little warmer.
They fished from morning until noon. Fishing itself was not particularly strenuous; the most exhausting part was the anticipation. By the time they snapped out of that focused waiting, their stomachs were already growling.
They began heading back to camp at the brightest part of noon, carrying the morning's catch. Though freshwater fish were easier to keep alive, these fresh fish could not wait until the next day to be eaten. So before returning, Schiller gutted every fish, removed the innards, and prepared them into fillets ready to cook.
Natasha watched from the side in repeated amazement, mainly amazed that an angler would not want to show off his live prey. Schiller replied, "This isn't much worth showing off. By ice-fishing standards, our catch should be considered rather small. Like Ivan said, prey is more vulnerable at this time of year and easier to hook."
Natasha lowered her head to look at the only fish she had caught. It was a trout, not especially robust. Judging by the shape of its belly, it had already burned through quite a bit of stored fat. It was destined not to taste very good.
"All right, it seems you prefer more challenging fishing." Natasha hesitated, but ultimately did not make the implication in her tone any clearer, as though she had some concern.
As they spoke, Schiller had already begun working on the last fish. Only then did Natasha have the chance to study his movements closely.
Schiller had placed a mat on the ice and sat cross-legged upon it. Gripping a fish by the tail, he slapped it