Wild Rations

Eye caught a cluster of hard acorns dangling from an oak branch over the fence rail. Uncharted wild ahead. Ground march demands sustenance. Reached high. Snapped a heavy brown acorn from its woody stem. Thick hull, tough as river stone. I did not smash it to pulp. Set the nut flat against the cedar beam. Brought the broadsword pommel down with measured weight. Sharp crack. Shell split clean down the center. Pried the halves apart. Inside lay a dense, bitter kernel, smelling of dry wood and rain. Packed three more nuts into my pelt belt. Field rations secured.