Chapter Text
Living in the swamp had its pros and cons. Many small insects are keen to share Phil's home with him, but he does not return the sentiment. He has a hylonomus who functions as pest control, though they come with a sharp bite if you dare get close.
The entrance to his house was not expertly crafted; there was a gap between the door and the floor, which let in quite a draft. When the rain fell heavily (which was a common occurrence) the water would stream straight into his home.
Since Phil had lost his grandad and moved to the swamp, he didn't know what he was meant to do. Of course, he could continue his grandad's studies of proto-amphibians, but he had always encouraged Phil to follow his own ambitions. Phil was very proud of his grandad's discoveries about the temnospondyls. He was always fascinated that species of temnospondyls could range from only centimetres long to up to 20ft! Whenever Phil saw their triangular heads and sharp teeth poking out of a bush, he was reminded of all the good memories with his grandad. He kept his handwritten books on the highest shelves to protect them from floods. They are his most prized possessions.
Unfortunately for Phil, he hadn't discovered what his ambitions were. Sure, he could befriend some arthropods, but what was he made to do?
Phil awoke with a grumbling stomach and his fringe in his eyes. Food was limited; if he was lucky he might stumble upon amniotes eggs. Generally, he had to hunt. The griffinflies were too fast to catch, and not too pleasant to eat either. Phil's grandad taught him how to build traps to catch temnospondyls. Hence, they were the foundations of most of his meals.
He decides to cut his hair later that day and brushes it out of his face. He equips his exoskeleton armour over his nightclothes and puffs out his chest with determination. Phil ties his shoes on, he learnt his lesson from when he had to run away from a hylonomus because it wouldn't stop nipping his feet.
Pulling the door open, he's hit with the early morning humidity as he leaves his home. Today's goal is to get food. As is most days. Phil decides to head to the shore in the hope of finding a chondrichthye. That should keep him fed for a week or so.
His armour served him for navigating the swamp, but if he was to go in the sea, it would only weigh him down. He leaves his hibbertopterus shells by a large boulder as he wades into the water.
Phil doesn't enjoy hunting, but he knows it's necessary for survival. Yesterday, he caught sight of a stethacanthus. He had never caught one before. He was honestly quite frightened to. They had sharp placoid scales on their head and on top of their spine brush. Phil would consider catching a less threatening-looking chrondrichthye, but the others were much too large for him to catch himself.
Taking a deep breath and with his grandad's encouragement in his thoughts, Phil sets up the bait to lure the stethacanthus closer. He sits on top of the boulder as he waits. The sun's rays warm on his skin, he fights not to close his eyes and rest. Suddenly, there's unnatural movement behind a calamite, which catches Phil's attention.
A peek of curly, deep brown hair flashes from between the shrubs. Confusion and fear hits Phil square in the stomach. Was that another human?