Helen called out to me. Since it was shorter than Sextus, she just called me by the vernacular.
"Hey Six, did you make this?" she asked.
She held the arrow up to me just below the tip. I nodded.
"It shoots pretty well," she said. "How did you make it?"
First I mimed striking stone against stone, then sharpening them against each other. Helen nodded as she followed my motions. I pointed to a stone the size of a block, to the spot near the big rock. Since my staff was awkward, I leaned it against a tree away from a road, before taking my position on one side of the blocky stone. She shouldered her bow, stuck the arrow back into her quiver, and took the other side.
Helen let me lead. She even took the lower of our burden as we sidled our way up the trail. We set the stone next to the big rock that I intended to use as an anvil.
"Need anything else?" she asked.
We ended up moving a coarser stone to flank the anvil rock and an armful of smaller stones. I sat on the anvil and showed her how to strike the flint downward to fracture it, picked out a promising piece, and began removing the bits that did not look like an arrowhead.
Helen studied my hands closely as I chipped away. After finishing the tail and half of th head, I handed the piece to her and emphasized that she had to use small motions and work away from herself. She took off a bit too much on one side. Her lips made a mou of displeasure. I pointed to the other side, so she took off more to balance it. The arrowhead was fairly well shaped even if it was a bit small.
The sky had darkened to the point when we had to call it a night. While eating my simple meal, I thought about our experience. Chipping out the small flakes to make an arrowhead would be far more precise if we had thin, hard rod to focus the pressure rather than relying on another stone. Knowing my father, I recalled that there was probably at least one such object in the house that I could use.
After dinner, I asked Dad for it, which made both his and Ma's eyes grow large.
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