Panic gripped me every time I came up empty. Finally, a flash of iridescent scales glinted in the sunlit pool and I plunged my net. What I pulled up wasn’t much—not eight inches long—but I rushed the fish back to camp, eagerly gutted and speared it, then roasted it briefly over the remains of my morning fire. I devoured it in seconds, bones and all. Splinters caught in my throat and I hacked and gargled to free them. Still, I craved more, even the bones, especially the bones. In retrospect, I know I was starving.
