A spot of fish would suit you nicely. Even in the dim light you see small fins and eyes flick by below the water's surface. You just have to fashion a means of catching them….
There's no way to make a fishing pole that'd hold together, you decide, but a spear is easy enough to make.
You find a long, relatively straight limb fallen from the willow and whittle it to a sharp point with your knife. You stand at the water's edge, squinting into the ripples for a target.
"Nowhere to hide, little beasts," you growl down at them most intimidatingly.
In fact, the fish are quite thoroughly hidden as long as they stay away from the few inches closest to the surface. You come near a few successful stabs (you think) when a fish comes up to eat a skating bug from the watertop, but after a good long while you're more hungry than before and with nothing to show for it.
Finally, you take your handkerchief and use it like a net in the moving shallows of the stream, trawling for smaller fare. You get soaked up to the armpits and knees wading in the cold water, but at least you ultimately have a fistful of squirming gudgeon to eat, wiggling their barbules at you before they suffocate in the air.
There's no point cleaning such tiny fish. You smoke them over a fire until you're too hungry to wait any longer. Their bones are softened somewhat with the heat, but it's still hardly a satisfying meal.
You harrumph and spit out the ribs, wishing you'd used the final light more thoughtfully. Should you have struck out on your own this way? The unwelcome thought haunts you. [-Surety]
Onward