The next morning, after a breakfast of wild vegetables and fruit, she decided it was time to teach her daughter an essential skill.
"Love," she said softly, holding her daughter's small hands, "today I'm going to show you how to make fire with a bow drill. You never know when you might need it. Fire keeps us warm, cooks our food, and even keeps animals away."
Her daughter's eyes widened. "Me, Mom? I can do it?"
"Yes, but it will be hard. You have to be patient, careful, and strong," she replied. She led her daughter to a flat, dry area near the cave entrance where they had cleared leaves and twigs.
She demonstrated slowly: how to place the spindle into the socket, wrap the cord around it, and move the bow back and forth to create friction. She showed how to press down carefully, how to keep the spindle steady, and how to catch the tiny sparks in a pile of dry grass.
Her daughter tried, her small hands fumbling with the bow and spindle. Sparks appeared, smoke curled—but it quickly died out. She frowned, frustration building, almost ready to give up.
"Don't worry, love," her mother said, kneeling beside her. "The bow drill is tricky at first. Fire is patient. You have to be patient too."
They practiced for hours. Her daughter's hands grew sore and the cord frayed in places, but her mother encouraged her constantly, correcting her grip, her pressure, and her rhythm. Every small wisp of smoke was a victory, every tiny spark a promise.
Finally, after much effort, the daughter managed a small ember in the dry grass. Her eyes lit up.
"I did it! Mom, I did it!" she cried, jumping up and down, her tired body forgetting exhaustion for a moment.
"Yes, you did!" her mother cheered, hugging her tightly. "See? You can do anything if you keep trying."
They carefully nurtured the ember, feeding it with tiny twigs until it grew into a steady flame. Both of them stared at the fire, feeling its warmth, the sense of control, and the knowledge that now her daughter could help keep them safe if needed.
As the fire crackled, the mother felt a surge of pride and relief. Teaching her daughter the bow drill wasn't just about survival—it was about strength, independence, and hope. They were learning, slowly, to live in this wild world together.
The next morning, the mother and daughter set out near the forest edge, carrying a few sticks, vines, and leaves. After yesterday's success with the fire, it was time to teach another essential survival skill: traps for small animals.
"Today, love," she said gently, "I'm going to show you how to catch food. Small animals like rabbits or birds. You'll need patience, careful hands, and sharp eyes."
Her daughter nodded eagerly, excitement brightening her tired face. "I can do it, Mom!"
They found a small clearing with soft soil and signs of animal activity—tiny paw prints, chewed leaves, and droppings. She explained how to look for paths animals might use and how to hide traps along them.
First, she demonstrated a simple snare trap. Using a flexible vine, she tied a loop and anchored it to a small stake. "Animals will step in this loop and get caught by the leg. See how I've hidden it with leaves? They won't notice it."
Her daughter watched carefully and then mimicked the steps, fumbling slightly as she tied her first loop. "Like this, Mom?"
"Yes, that's it! Try to hide it well. Remember, the animal is smart, but patience and careful placement can help us."
They spent the day checking tracks, digging small pits for deadfall traps, and arranging sticks and vines for snares. By the afternoon, several traps were ready, and the mother taught her daughter how to check them quietly.
The following day, they revisited the traps. One of the snares had caught a small rabbit. Her daughter's eyes widened, and she nearly jumped for joy. The mother carefully removed the animal, praising her daughter's careful placement. "Well done! This is how we get food without running into danger."
Together, they prepared the rabbit over their small stone fireplace. While it cooked, the daughter helped gather edible leaves and vegetables, adding them to a simple soup. The warmth of the fire, the smell of cooked meat, and the teamwork made them feel safer, stronger, and more prepared for the challenges ahead.
By evening, they returned to their cave, satisfied with their progress. The daughter's confidence grew, and the mother felt a surge of pride. Each skill learned, each trap set, was another step toward survival—and another day they could remain independent and safe in the wild mountain wilderness.
A few days later, as they were collecting wild vegetables near the edge of the forest, she froze. Strange noises carried through the trees—sharp, high-pitched chattering. Her eyes widened. "Monkeys," she whispered to her daughter, who immediately clung to her side.
Through the dense canopy, a group of monkeys leapt from branch to branch, their agile bodies moving with surprising speed. She watched them carefully, noting how they traveled in a group, constantly scanning the ground and treetops.
"Mom, are they dangerous?" her daughter asked quietly.
"They're curious," she replied, "but mostly we can learn from them. Watch… monkeys eat fruit. And the fruits they choose are often safe for humans too."
With that thought, she took her daughter's hand, and carefully, almost crawling on all fours to avoid making noise, they followed the group from a safe distance. The monkeys moved quickly but not far; they stopped after about two kilometers in a small clearing filled with fruit-laden trees.
She watched as they began to eat, plucking fruit from branches and tossing seeds to the ground. Many of the fruits looked familiar—similar to the tropical fruits she had seen in exotic markets long ago. She whispered to her daughter, "See how they eat carefully? We'll try the same."
Moving slowly, they crept closer, avoiding dry leaves that might snap underfoot. She picked a few of the fallen fruits, careful to check for damage, mold, or insects. The monkeys chattered but didn't seem to notice them, and after a few minutes, the mother signaled her daughter to retreat.
Back at the cave, she examined the fruits. They looked ripe, soft, and without any obvious toxins. Pulling out her mental notes from survival books she had read in the past, she sliced a tiny piece and tasted it cautiously. Sweet, juicy, and completely edible.
"Safe," she whispered, smiling at her daughter. "We can eat these." She shared small pieces with her daughter, who eagerly tasted the fruit and nodded in approval. "Delicious!" she exclaimed.
Feeling proud and a little more confident in their survival skills, she decided to gather more tomorrow, following the monkeys' paths to find other edible fruits. Each discovery was a small victory, a reassurance that the wild island could sustain them—if they stayed alert, patient, and clever.