《My Shed Got Dropped Into An RPG...With Me Inside!》


 Chapter 1

    My Name is Trevor Bluem. I''m 33 years old, married, with no children. Technically, I''m a widower. My wife, Patricia, had been killed in an accident at her job just over two years ago. Two years, two months, and eleven days, actually--but who''s counting? Before she died--and I say "died" on purpose. I don''t care for the phrase "passed away", but I couldn''t tell you why. It always struck me as saccharine and escapist. Anyway, before she died, we did the "responsible" thing and took out matching life insurance policies after we got married. I suppose I''m thankful that I haven''t had to worry about money to survive while I figure out what on Earth life is going to look like in the future, but it would be the biggest understatement of my life to say that I''d rather have Patricia back than a few hundred thousand dollars.


    At any rate, my daily life was terribly boring to talk about. I woke up. I had breakfast. I went to the gym. I went to the grocery store. I Showered. I played video games. I had lunch. I watched TV. I made dinner. I read books. I went to bed. And in the warm months, I could add yard work and gardening to the list. My little slice of suburbia was as typical as it could be.


    One Spring day, I was preparing the garden for this year''s small complement of vegetables, going back and forth between the shed and the raised beds for some tool or other. I had just finished tilling in some compost, carried the hand tiller back to be hung on its pegs, and grabbed the roll of weed-blocking cloth, when the warm breeze blew the door of the shed closed and wrapped me in darkness--a common occurrence when I forgot to latch the door open.


    "Whoa!" I exclaimed when I opened the door again. I was greeted not with my back yard--two trees, a fire pit, a rack of split wood, two fenced garden beds, and the steps up to the deck just six feet in front of me--but an open field of knee-high grass, dotted with yellow flowers, leading out to the horizon.


    Of course I blinked a few times, rubbed my eyes, and shook my head. Had something fallen from the rafters and knocked me unconscious? Had an aerosol can of something leaked and made me hallucinate? This had the feel of an "Inception" style dream, where you can''t remember how you got into the situation, you just find yourself there, believing it''s real. Despite that, I''d never had a lucid dream before, so even having the thought, "Is this a dream?" led me to believe that I was conscious and in my right mind.


    So, I sat down in the doorway, with the breeze nudging the door against my left knee, and pulled my phone from my pocket to try to pull up a map to see where the hell I was. I tapped the Maps app, but received a "loading error" message after a few seconds. Glancing at the upper right of the screen, the "No Signal" icon was displayed--the normal signal bars with an "X" through them. I hazily noted that my battery was at 65 percent.


    Oooookay. So I''m in the middle of nowhere with no way to find out where I am or to contact anyone. Alright. So, what the hell happened? One second I''m in the middle of suburban Kansas, and the next I''m very much NOT there. Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. In through the nose...two...three...four...Out through the mouth...two...three four...And in...two...three...four...And out...two...three...four. Okay. What DO we know? I''m alive, for one. I''m probably conscious and not hallucinating. It''s warm, so I''m not going to freeze to death. It''s light out, so I can take a look around. Actually, speaking of light, the sun looks like it matches the time pretty well, about 10 am. So that tells me that I''ve been moved latitudinally, rather than longitudinally. Though whether it''s North or South, I can''t tell. Since the temperature''s about the same, maybe South? Nebraska and the Dakotas would be noticeably cooler this time of year, right? Hell, maybe I''m even still in Kansas, just away from a city. Easily possible, considering how flat and empty most of Kansas is.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Based on the assumption that I''m somewhere in the Central Plains of the US, I should be relatively safe, except from wildlife. On the off chance I''ve been moved to the Southern Hemisphere at a similar Latitude, things could be much more dangerous. If I were to go straight down from Kansas around the globe...I''d actually end up in the Pacific. Right. So the only country that comes this far West would be Mexico? God I hope I''m in the US rather than in some cartel''s back yard.


    Shifting my assumption back to the States, I decided to have a look around. Directly in front of the shed was the open grassland out to the horizon. Not surprising. Looking to the right, more grass. As I walked around the other direction, North, to latch the door against the outside of the shed, I observed additional grass in that direction. Way in the distance was what looked like a dark green lump, probably the edge of some forest.


    Coming all the way around toward the back of the shed, I could see some mountains in the distance, something like 30 miles away. So long as the shed wasn''t rotated when it traveled, that direction would be West. And the only mountains to the West of anywhere in the plains would be the Rockies. Considering you couldn''t see them from anywhere in Kansas, that hypothesis was out. I had no clue whether you could see them from states farther North, so there was a good chance I had moved at least one state to the West.


    While I was trying to figure out which states can actually see the Rockies, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I backed around the corner of the shed and peered around to see what kind of animal it was. Because it has to be an animal out here, right? I can''t imagine there''d be some OTHER guy and his shed here in the middle of nowhere, Colorado (or Idaho, or whatever).


    Human heuristic processing is kind of amazing. Evolutionarily, the ability to recognize what an object is in a few thousandths or hundredths of a second is part of what allowed our species to survive long enough to dominate the planet. When you have a fraction of a second to decide whether something is a threat, and act accordingly, every tiny part of that second counts. We''re really good at very, VERY quickly comparing the first glimpse of an object, especially a new one, to the database of things we''re already familiar with. We can tell almost instantly a canine from a feline, a banana from a pear, a house from a bus, a bicycle from a horse. It''s part of why Captchas have you pick all the squares with cross walks in them, to train AI models to make the same split-second judgements by comparing the current view to something it already knows. This process isn''t always perfect, and can yield some false assumptions, but for the most part it works well.


    Anyway, the thing moving behind the shed was a gnoll.

 Chapter 2

    Yes, it really was a gnoll. A canine-ish monster straight out of your favorite tabletop RPG. Of course my brain, which had lived in the real world for all its life, tried for part of a second to find a more realistic explanation for what it''s original heuristic matrix had potentially misidentified. Maybe it was a chimpanzee, mildly similar in shape, or a bison, much more native to the area I believed I was in, or some guy in a bigfoot costume, way more logical than having an actual monster in front of me. But the longer I looked, the longer my brain had to compare this entity to all of those things, and slap a big red "X" over them with a buzzer sound.


    At the most basic levels, everything that is alive, wants to STAY alive. This is where the "Fight or Flight" response is based, as well as things like "hysterical strength" that lets mothers move cars to save their children. Right at that moment, my brain definitely kicked into "Flight" mode. I scurried and scrambled as fast as I could back around to the front of the shed and had the presence of mind to pull the door closed behind me as gently as possible so as to not attract the attention of the gnoll. I was reasonably sure it hadn''t seen me; it had been facing away from me initially, and only after it turned its head to look to the left had I identified what the pointed ears and furry shoulders belonged to. Maybe the motion detection at the edge of their field of vision wasn''t as sharp as a human''s? But those ears were probably as good as a dog''s right? Not to mention the nose.


    Okay. Okay. Okay. Don''t panic. Don''t panic. Breathe. Keep breathing. So it was a gnoll. They''re low- to mid-range monsters on the danger scale, right? Well, I guess that depends on whether the game has an enemy level-scaling system. If the game is balanced this way, even a slime could be a challenge to a high-level player, since the slime levels up along with the player. On the other hand, some games stratify enemy difficulty based on location, and where you''re expected to progress in the story. Enemies near the starting area are weak, to match the new player, and remain weak even if the player comes back at a higher level. Unfortunately, there was no way to know one way or the other, here.


    And in reality, it didn''t really matter. I was completely unprepared to face any kind of monster, leveled or otherwise. Besides that, what in the actual hell was a gnoll doing in the midwestern United States? They. Don''t. Actually. Exist! I was putting pieces together and had pretty much arrived at the realization that like Dorothy, I wasn''t in Kansas anymore. And similar to Oz, this world had dangers I would never have encountered at home.


    So. I appeared to be somewhere besides the reality I''ve always known. Some other dimension, or maybe a different planet in the same universe. It was useless to speculate about things like that, since they had no bearing on what I was up against right now. There was an actual, real, live freaking MONSTER about fifty feet away, and the only thing between me and it was about half an inch of particle board on a door that I couldn''t even latch from the inside. I was holding the door closed by gripping the two by four brace across its midpoint. There was no handle, no catch, nothing to prevent anyone or any THING from wrapping fingers all the way around the handle on the outside and ripping the door from between my squeezing fingers on the inside.


    I was starting to sweat. Not only was my life actually in danger, the asphalt shingles on the roof were absorbing the mild springtime sunlight and transferring it inside the building which had no vents or air conditioning. Even if the shed did have air conditioning, would it still work here? It would have had to be connected to power from the house, and the house is way, way away from the shed now.


    Yet another pointless train of thought. I guess I didn''t want to honestly face my reality. Alright, Trevor, you''re still alive. You have a brain. You''re theoretically smarter than a monster. And even if you aren''t, it probably hasn''t noticed that you''re in here yet. Even though there''s no way it hasn''t noticed the shed itself. It''ll probably come sniffing around (haha, sniffing. Get it? Because it''s a dog-type monster? Heh...) soon just out of curiosity. What do I have to defend myself with?


    The answer to that, it turned out, was quite a bit. This was a garden shed, after all. My eyes lit upon a hoe, two kinds of shovels, several rakes, an electric leaf blower--yeah, that''ll be real useful--and a machete! I hadn''t used it in years, since I had to chop down the neighbor''s rose bush that was growing over and under the fence, but it was a damn sight better than nothing!


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    I hadn''t noticed what kind of weapon, if any, the gnoll had been carrying. It could be unarmed, honestly, depending on claws and fangs to fight. At the same time, gnolls had humanoid hands, so theoretically it could hold a sword. In that case, even if the weapons were theoretically around the same length, I wouldn''t call a regular guy with a yard tool "evenly matched" against something that had probably been holding that sword for most of its life. And if the gnoll had a spear, or other more exotic weapon, I was even more doomed.


    What I probably DID have was the element of surprise. The gnoll would be approaching the shed with curiosity, but probably not with its guard all the way up. Probably. Although if I were in that same situation, I''d probably be expecting a fight and being very cautious. But again, we''re assuming I''m smarter than the gnoll, right? Right. It hasn''t played the games I have.


    The next course of action, then, would be to set some kind of trap. From inside an unlocked, unlit, increasingly sweltering outbuilding. Not helpful thinking, Trevor. Alright. The first thought that comes to mind is to toss something small onto the shelves holding tools and hope the rattling as it falls down attracts the gnoll to the door, and as soon as it sticks its snout in the door, whack it as hard as I can with the machete. Another option is to let the door swing open, hoping the motion will attract its eye, and proceed with the "whack the snout" part of the plan. It''s too bad there isn''t a trap door in here, I could theoretically attract the gnoll with either of those plans, sneak out through the crawl space under the shed, and come upon it from behind. Note to self: If I survive this encounter, find a way to build such a trap door in the shed. After figuring out a way to semi-securely lock it from the inside.


    Of the two plans, the second one seemed the safest. If I made a sound, even a small one, the gnoll would know for sure that there was something inside the shed, even if it didn''t know it was a person. Whereas with the door, that would be assumed to have been caused by the wind, right? I was hoping that at least the gnoll would think so. Before I could second-guess my reasoning, I released my cramped grip on the cross brace, stepped to the side, and lifted the machete high over my head with my gaze focused on the edge of the doorframe.


    There was no way to know how long I would have to wait in that state. Sweat pretty immediately started to drip down my face, coming very close to my eyes. Jebus, why wasn''t I wearing one of the sweatbands I had for while I was on the treadmill? Ugh, and they were in my gym bag, in the car, back at the house. Oh well. I did my best to wipe the droplets away with my sleeves while keeping at least one eye open and trained on the door. After a couple of minutes, my shoulders started to burn, unaccustomed to being held up for so long. Of course I knew that shoulder presses at the gym weren''t the same as holding position for an extended period of time, but I had never really thought that I would need that kind of stamina! Not long after the burn started, a tremble began to set in. At that point, I figured it would be better to bring my arms down to a more neutral, "ready" position, rather than losing all the strength and mobility in my shoulders as time went on.


    With my arms lowered, I focused on controlling my breathing, to bring it and my heart rate down to something below "mortal terror", against the reality of my situation. Without the distraction of breath sounds and burning deltoids, I could focus more on what I could hear outside the shed.


    Wind through the grass.


    A bird calling.


    Crickets chirping.


    A faint squeak from the door hinge.


    Snuffling.


    As soon as I heard the snuffling, I prayed that the gnoll''s potentially dog-like sense of smell couldn''t detect me. Or if it could, that I was unfamiliar enough that it didn''t know to treat me as a threat. If the gnoll was close enough for me to hear it sniffing, it should be coming through the door any moment now. My heart rate and breathing picked back up, and every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation of the kill or be killed situation I was about to encounter.


    After seconds that felt like hours, an angular shadow fell through the doorway. I hadn''t considered that I''d have a heads up before it actually made it through the door! As the shadow rose in the rectangle of sunlight, I raised the machete over my head again. In the next moment, that twitching, wet, fuzzy nose I had been waiting for made its way into my field of view, followed by a smooth, elongated muzzle of brown fur, and finally black eyes with the barest line of white around them. Channeling my inner revolutionist, I swung down with all of my might as soon as I saw the white of those eyes, an instant before they swung in my direction.


    My eyes closed involuntarily. The blade made made contact. I felt resistance. I heard a cracking noise. My arms stopped moving, and the machete was pulled down, out of my grasp.

 Chapter 3

    Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I''m alive. What just happened? Open your eyes, Trevor--it could be recovering and about to stab you. Open. Your. Eyes.


    My eyes snapped open and immediately dropped through the now empty doorway to the floor, first anchoring on the textured black plastic of the machete''s handle. It was suspended about a foot off the floor, with the wide, heavy chopping end buried--oh geez it was buried in the skull of the gnoll, right behind the eyes. There was blood seeping out of the wound, but much to my relief, no gray matter. I shifted my gaze to its eyes, which were still, unfocused, and very much devoid of life.


    Oh God. It''s dead. It''s dead and I killed it. Oh God. What if it wasn''t hostile? What if I''m a criminal now? What if the gnoll police show up and arrest me? Oh God. I would deserve it. I definitely deserve to be locked up after that. It was just minding its own business and I chopped it in the head with a freaking MACHETE. What the hell was I thinking, making assumptions like that? It probably didn''t want to kill me, it probably had a family. And kids. Pups? Would gnoll babies be called pups? It doesn''t matter, Trevor. You''re a murderer. You murdered this thing without any evidence that it was intending to hurt you. Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.


    With my mind reeling in relief, panic, regret, and self-loathing, I sank to the plywood floor of the shed, leaning against the wall. I cupped my head in my hands as tears sprang to my eyes and streamed down my face. I began to sob and wail, salty snot and water collecting in the dust and crevices of my skin. Rocking back and forth as I wept, it never occurred to me that the hypothetical "gnoll Police", or indeed any other beings, could be nearby hearing my breakdown.


    My breakdown lasted longer than you would think for an adult, but eventually the sobs and wails became whimpers and hiccups, and finally abated to long breaths across raw vocal cords. I wiped my face with my shirt, avoiding looking at the gnoll''s empty eyes, then leaned my head back against the shed wall to get my breathing under control. My mind was fairly empty, not thinking about my actions or the potential consequences, nor even my next moves. After a while I took a deep, shuddering breath, and let my mind get back into motion.


    Alright. So, I''ve got a dead gnoll here. I killed it. I can''t just leave the body there in the doorway. Whether it was hostile or not, I need to move it out of the way in order to do anything else. Okay. Here we go.


    I levered myself off of the floor, bracing myself between the wall and the edge of the folding work table attached to the bare wall studs. I took a moment to brace myself, then looked down again at the dead gnoll. Not much had changed, except that the blood pool was slightly wider, and had started to dry around the edges, as well as at the site of the wound. The eyes were still open and empty, and there was no movement whatsoever from the corpse.


    I hesitantly reached out toward the machete, and gingerly wrapped my fingers around the handle. It felt like this was the first step to the cleanup process, removing the murder weapon from the body. At first, my tugging was gentle, as if trying to lift a sharp knife from soft butter. The machete didn''t budge. I gave it more force, and the gnoll''s head just tilted toward me, causing me to drop the handle like the business end of a soldering iron. Smiling sheepishly at my jumpiness, I grasped the handle again, and gave a sharper yank in an attempt to dislodge the machete. Again, the gnoll''s head came along with it--but I didn''t drop the handle this time! Wrapping my other hand around the hand holding the machete, I squatted, engaged my core, and pulled hard using my back muscles. When the head of the gnoll moved, this time I just kept pulling until the machete *schlicked* free.


    Oh God. Now I can see it. Oh God. That was deep. I''m gonna puke. Oh God.


    Wretching, I flailed for the closest five gallon bucket, which accepted my breakfast of a banana, oatmeal, bacon, and orange juice.


    Once I was done coughing, spluttering, and blowing my nose, I set the bucket aside and wiped my face again on my now very crusty shirt. Then, very deliberately not looking directly at the head of the monster lying in my doorway, I stepped over it and out into the fresh air and sunshine.


    Alright. I''m okay. I survived, and I''m back in the sunshine. Let''s have a look around to make sure there''s nobody else nearby.


    I slowly circled the shed counter clockwise, peering as far as I could in every direction. Nothing new registered--just the open grassland in every direction except West, where the mountains rose to their snow-capped majesty. Although, there was only so much I could see from ground level...


    Anyway, even though I''d been avoiding thinking about it, there was still the issue of the dead gnoll in the doorway of the shed. Coming back around the front of the shed in the same direction my defeated foe had come, I paused briefly for a self pep talk.


    Alright Trevor. Time to nut up or shut up. Just grab its ankles and drag it straight out a few yards. That way you can get to work on making some kind of lock for the inside of the door. You can do this.


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    Mimicking a Japanese anime protagonist, I smacked my cheeks before clapping my hands together, squatting down, and taking the gnoll''s unclad ankles in my hands. A slight heave up and back, and we were on the move. It felt like the gnoll weighed two hundred pounds or so. Definitely enough to warrant some grunting and grip readjustment. It took ten or so shuffling steps to clear the doorway and ramp, then another dozen to make it what I judged to be "far enough" away. I tried very hard not to look too closely at the rapidly darkening stain left on the plywood. I also had to school myself to look away from the contents of the body''s loincloth. Some things you just can''t unsee. At least I didn''t have to look at its face, since it had landed face down and I wasn''t about to try to turn it over.


    Dropping the gnoll''s ankles, I stood up straight and shook my arms out. "Step one, done" I said aloud, to no one but my deceased "companion". Taking another look around, I headed back over to the shed.


    Alright, Trevor, let''s take stock of the situation, shall we? You and your shed have been transported to God knows where, for no readily apparent reason. This place doesn''t seem to be Kansas, the USA, or even planet Earth. There was at least one gnoll monster, and presumably there are more, somewhere. The environment and atmosphere don''t seem to be immediately toxic to me. That''s what we know for sure at this point.


    From that point, nothing is concrete. Anything further is purely questions and guesswork. If there are monsters, are there monster hunters? I hesitate to even hope, but is there magic? Of course I''m going to jump straight to magic, it''s every nerd''s dream. If there is, how do I learn it? Is it an innate talent or a skill that can be learned? Speaking of skills, do I have any "cheat" skills like some protagonist? Actually, let''s leave the conjecture alone for now. The more immediate question is how to secure the shed door, since it''s my only protection from anything, currently.


    I crossed the few remaining steps to the bottom of the ramp. Looking at the door gently swinging in the wind, I figured that the easiest way to secure the door from the inside, would be to move the gate latch from the outside to the inside. Simple enough, just remove and re-drive a few screws. That raised questions about how to secure the door in the open position, but right now the priority was security over convenience.


    Stepping over the evidence of my crime, I made my way inside and blinked once or twice to adjust my eyes. It wasn''t pitch black inside, what with the sun streaming in through the door, but the contrast between that and the shadows took some effort to see through.


    The shed actually had a pair of doors that opened outward from the center, though the left-hand door was almost always latched in place using a rod going into a hole in the floor. I wished I had something similar for the other side, but again, it was designed to be accessible from the outside rather than secure from the inside.


    On the right, past the yard tools hanging on their pegs or leaning against the wall, was an old wooden ladder hanging on a hook. Just past the ladder was my tool cabinet. It was a super cheap thing Patricia and I had actually encountered in the "finds" aisle of a grocery store, but it was plenty for a semi-handy home hobbyist like myself. It had six drawers--four in the top section and two in the bottom--with a small cabinet for larger tools at the bottom. Opening the top drawer, I glanced through my screwdriver collection for a standard phillips-head screwdriver. I found it and headed back toward the door.


    The latch was as simple as anything could be, just two pieces of metal (probably galvanized steel) with a hinge in the middle. One end was affixed to the door, and the other had a slot in it, which would go over the ring attached to the opposite door, and then you''d put a padlock or a stick or whatever through that ring to secure the door in the "closed" position. I removed the screws holding the latch and the opposing loop from the outside, and reattached the parts on the inside of the door. Now all I had to do was close the door, slap the latch over the ring, drop something like this screwdriver through the hole, and it would be much, much harder for anything to come in and get me. There was now no way to secure the shed from the outside, but I couldn''t imagine anyone caring to break into a shed when no one was home, especially out here in the middle of nowhere. Doubly so if the door was left to just swing in the wind, which to me would communicate, "Nothing worthwhile in here, the door isn''t even closed let alone locked."


    With the immediate question of security addressed, I now had to face other aspects of my reality, and look to the future. Not a pleasant prospect, honestly.


    I opened the door again and was about to sit in the doorway, before I remembered one aspect of the situation I didn''t really want to; namely, the blood pool from the gnoll. I could either try to remove it, or leave it to dry and just live with it. I knew that the porous plywood would hold on to a stain no matter how hard I tried to clean it up, but at the same time I didn''t want to deal with the sticky stage of the drying process, and then the crust afterward. So, I resolved to at least try to rinse the worst of it away.


    I had stored ten one-gallon jugs of water in the shed, in case we lost utilities for a couple of days as a result of living in the middle of "Tornado Alley". I popped the cap on one jug and poured a few splashes onto the blood pool. It splattered some, but since the blood had already started to coagulate, it more or less stayed in the same area. I then grabbed my flathead shovel and scraped the liquid out the door onto the ramp. I poured some more water more precisely to rinse the ramp off, and somehow felt a lot better once the majority of the crimson liquid was fertilizing the grass rather than shining in the sunlight on the flat wood.


    While I was rinsing grossness out of the shed, I grabbed the bucket with my breakfast in it and rinsed it into the grass off to the side of the ramp as well, then turned the bucket upside down on the ground to drain, and sat on top of it. I chugged some water, capped the jug, and set it next to me. Looking out over the grass, feeling the warmth of the climbing sun on my face, I asked myself out loud "Well, what now?"

 Chapter 4

    I had watched enough survival shows to know that the priorities in a "survival situation" were water, shelter, and food, in that order. Shelter, thankfully, was covered already. Bless whoever or whatever had stranded me here, since it had at least brought along a roof and walls for me. I had some water, but it wouldn''t last forever, so that had to be the first order of business.


    Oh shit, I also have to handle the gnoll''s body. I don''t want to deal with the smell of decomposing flesh, or with anything that might come along to try to eat it. So water first, dig a grave second, and then a source of food.


    The shed had several five gallon buckets inside, so storing a few days worth of drinking water wouldn''t be an issue, if I could find a source for it. The South side of the shed had a rain gutter and downspout attached, but the gutter was terribly clogged. I supposed cleaning that out and putting a bucket at the bottom was a good place to start.


    I grabbed the ladder off of its hook inside the shed, then carried it around to lean it against the gutter. It only took two steps up to be able to see into the gutter, and the mess within. Ugh. I stepped back down and went inside for the work gloves laying on the table. Come to think of it, I probably should have worn these while dragging the gnoll''s body. Well, no use crying over spilled milk.


    Back up the ladder, it only took a few minutes to toss the leaves, sticks, and tiny oak saplings that had sprouted from acorns out of just eight feet of gutter. Why hadn''t I done this before? It wasn''t even hard. I guess I had just never seen it as a priority when it wasn¡¯t a potential tool for keeping myself alive. I shifted the ladder over to the end with the downspout and peered into it. I couldn''t see much, but it looked like light was coming in from the bottom end, so it was likely clear enough to let water through.


    Hopping down from the ladder, I considered the cleanliness of water running off an asphalt roof into a gutter that until just now had been filled with decomposing plant matter. There was the option of using some of the water I already had to at least rinse out the gutter, but I felt like I would regret it in a few days if this area didn''t see a lot of rain. I decided to let the rain rinse it out, if it ever came, and to place the bucket under the downspout after that.


    Well shit, the downspout is actually too close to the ground to be able to direct it into a bucket. Should I cut the downspout? I had a hacksaw in the tool cabinet, but only so many blades for it. I could maybe detach the whole downspout and place the bucket under the hole, hoping it would stream down well enough to effectively catch the rain. Oh wait! Even better, I could suspend a rope down through the open hole and into the bucket, and water would run down the rope without the risk of splashing everywhere. People do something just like this all the time with ¡°rain chains¡±, and it should work really well here too.


    The brackets attaching the downspout to the shed were held in place with screws that would fit a socket as well as had a groove for a flathead screwdriver. I went to the tool cabinet for the socket set, I figured it would be easier than keeping a flathead inside the groove. Two minutes and six screws later, the downspout was on the ground. I went back inside for a (relatively) clean bucket and coil of 3/8 inch sisal rope.


    Even though the coil had been in the shed for at least a year, the rope was new, in the sense that I had never cut off the ties and used any of it yet, so it should last a long while.


    How long do I need to cut this rope? Guess I have to go back in for a measuring tape. While I''m at it, I may as well just grab the whole tool belt so I don''t have to keep going in and out. I always do this, not realizing that I need a bunch of different tools with me until I''m halfway through the job. Oh well.


    I went back in and buckled on my tool belt, which had a tape measure clipped to it, as well as a claw head hammer in one hammer loop, a hatchet in the other, safety glasses, pliers, and a few other things in the pockets. Handily equipped, I stepped back out for what I hoped was the last time for a while to measure the height of the rain gutter.


    It''s 78 inches from the gutter to the ground. The bucket will be sitting directly on the ground, so the rope doesn''t need to be quite that long, does it? I don''t want it coiled in the bottom getting mildewy. I''m thinking since the bucket is...14 inches deep, I can have the end of the rope 8 inches from the bottom, which means only 70 inches of rope. Oh wait, how am I going to attach this to the gutter? It wouldn''t be a good idea to screw it in, that would just make it leak. I guess gluing it down with caulk would work, but I feel like being in the sun would make that break down really quickly. I think the easiest thing would be to just tie it through the downspout hole, around the side. So I''ll need at least that eight inches back, with a couple more to be safe. 80 inches sounds right. It might hang farther down into the bucket, but it should be fine. I can always cut more off.


    I laid a length of the rope down along the ground and measured out 80 inches, cutting it with my pocket knife. I tied a clove hitch knot through the hole in the gutter, and let the other end fall into the bucket. It was suspended about three inches above the bottom, so not exactly as I had hoped, but definitely within the realm of "good enough".


    Okay, that''s one potential source of water set up. But considering how clear the sky is, this won''t be a viable source in the immediate future. Does that mean I need to go exploring? Oy, that''s a terrifying thought. I have no idea what else is out there! More gnolls, or other, more fierce monsters? Bandits, pretty likely, if this is as much of a fantasy setting as the gnoll makes it seem. But I can''t stay here forever, I definitely need water and food--I have absolutely nothing to eat in the shed.


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    On cue, my stomach growled. It looked like food would be a necessity sooner rather than later, due to the gastric evacuation after seeing the gnoll''s...I decided not to finish the thought.


    That settles it, I guess. I''ll look through the shed for what I might need to bring with me.


    Stepping back through the door, I blinked to get my eyes to adjust to the shadows outside the rectangle of sunlight through the door. I would definitely need the machete, which was now laying on the floor near the water jugs, right where I had dropped it after extracting it from the gnoll''s cranium. The rest of the rope, 50 feet minus 80 inches, would probably be handy. I uncoiled it and rewrapped it in loops of arm''s length, to drape it over my shoulder, across my chest. The rest of the tools in the tool belt would be handy, too, so I left it around my waist. Then, my eyes landed on the shovels leaning against the wall, reminding me about the gnoll''s corpse.


    Crap, I still have to do that. I think that''ll take priority over the search for water or food for the moment, since I do have a little here already. Of course that means I need to set all of this aside again and pick it back up later. Why am I like this?


    Leaving the rhetorical self-interrogation aside, I unbuckled the tool belt and laid it on the table along with the rope, then picked up the spade shovel.


    Time to do this. Here goes nothing.


    Walking over to where I had left the gnoll''s body, I found that it had already attracted flies. Wonderful. I took a few more steps and started cutting though the grass in a rough rectangle shape a little longer and wider than the body in the grass, before beginning to dig in earnest.


    It wasn''t long before I started to sweat. Manual digging isn''t easy under the best of circumstances, and doing it in direct sunlight, at midday, while under stresses I had never imagined didn''t make it any better. I had worn a long sleeved shirt and jeans with my work boots for some UV protection, with a tank top underneath. I completely unbuttoned the shirt, which allowed the breeze to roll under the fabric, bringing immediate relief.


    I''ve always heard to dig a hole six feet deep if you wanted to make sure you couldn''t smell the decomposition, and to keep animals from digging up the body, but holy crap! I''m maybe a foot down and this is torture! It''s not even like the dirt is hard clay or whatever, but there are plenty of rocks and that makes it hard to drive the point down. Maybe four feet will be okay? Ugh, let''s see how I feel when I get that far. If I get that far.


    -


    According to my phone, now at 59 percent battery, it was 1:32 PM, and I had dug approximately three feet down. The sides of the hole showed the strata of the grass roots, a layer of densely rocky soil that had sifted up over time, then more evenly-distributed semi-rocky soil after about the two foot mark. The actual digging was getting slightly easier, but of course I was getting more tired, so the work didn''t progress any faster.


    Alright. Alright. I need a break. Is it just me, or do movies make it look like you can dig a grave in an hour? But I for sure need water, and I wish I had something to eat. But I guess taking a breather and hydrating will have to be enough. This guy isn''t going anywhere, at least.


    With the sun shining down, I walked past the gnoll''s lifeless form, up the ramp, and into the shade of the shed. I inverted another bucket into a seat, and plopped down to catch my breath. As I waited for my body to cool and regain some energy, my eyes wandered across the field, and my mind to my late wife.


    Well, at least Patricia isn''t around to be worried about me disappearing. She''d be smart enough to realize that the shed was gone, too, so I hadn''t just up and left her. Now the house will just be empty until the money in the bank runs out and stops paying utilities and taxes. That''ll definitely take a few years. Oh but my family and Patricia''s will worry about me way before then since they won¡¯t be able to reach me. Though they don''t reach out all that often, so it may be a month or three before they potentially have the police check on me. I know Nana and Papa will be beside themselves, and my brother will definitely call in favors from his Army and work buddies to try and find me. In the best case, I can wish that their memories of me are gone along with me and this stupid shed, so they don''t have to grieve for me.


    I was in fairly good shape, so it took less than thirty minutes to recover some stamina after a little water and rest. I grabbed the water jug to bring with me, huffed my way onto my feet, and stalked back over to the shovel sticking out of the excavation pile.


    It took me about an hour and a half to dig half of the hole. Assuming I''ll slow down further as I build up fatigue, I''m guessing another two, two and a half hours to reach six feet? At least I feel like I can make it past my original plan of four feet. And the gloves are working well to prevent blisters, though I do feel some tender spots, and I''ll definitely be sore in my core and back tomorrow. Well, I don''t want to waste any more time--let''s do this.


    I hopped down, hefted the shovel, planted the point in the dirt, and placed my foot on the step of the blade again.


    -


    Some three hours later, I straightened my aching back to find grass roots at eye level, and the sun no longer visible over the rectangular wall of grass.


    Freaking good enough. If any smell gets out or critters get in after I bury the gnoll down here, they deserve it. I guess being exactly average height has its perks. If this hole is as deep as I am tall, that means I''m only three inches shy of a six foot deep hole. That''s good enough for me, considering I''m covered in dust, blisters, and sweat.


    I placed my hands on the edge of the hole and hopped up while pushing down, to turn around and plant my butt at ground level, legs dangling into the hole. The grave, technically. Huh, both feet in the grave. Good thing I''m not superstitious. Leaving my legs dangling, I laid back on the grass, which felt like a mattress as tired as I was.


    I hadn''t made the decision consciously, but the grave was oriented North to South. I guess I wanted this to be an orderly affair, somewhere in the back of my mind. As I lay there, the shadows of the grass from the West flickered in the breeze, and I closed my eyes against the bright blue sky.

 Chapter 5

    I awoke to much longer shadows, and a much more purple sky.


    Oh man am I stiff. I apparently needed the nap but dang, sleeping on the ground with my feet hanging, next to a dead body, isn''t exactly ideal posture. It''s gonna take days for this crick in my neck to go away, and I know I''m gonna be sore and nursing blisters for at least a week. Well, if I survive that long. What time is it?


    A glance at my phone, now at 55 percent, showed that it was 6:08 PM. I sat all the way up and looked around at the grave, the dirt pile, and the gnoll''s body.


    Sorry man, I didn''t mean to leave you unburied this long. Let''s get you into the ground, for your sake and mine.


    I grunted and groaned my way to a standing position, then lifted my arms to stretch as tall as I could. Once I let that breath burst out, I stood shaking pins and needles from my lower legs while running my fingers through my hair. I caught a whiff of something unpleasant, which I had to assume was the gnoll''s body just beginning to decompose. I had woken up not a moment too soon, it seemed. The breeze stirred again and a different scent lit up my nostrils.


    Oh my god that smells good. I guess one of the neighbors is grilling. Wait, grilling? Who the hell is grilling? As far as I know, there''s no one around to BE grilling!


    I dropped to prone position, in case whoever it was hadn''t seen me stand and stretch. Or the damned outbuilding standing in the middle of nowhere. I lifted my head and looked as well as I could in every direction, but there was no sight of the source of the smell making my stomach clench and roar.


    I''m gonna need a better look. Probably safest to survey from the shed, so I can sorta camouflage my silhouette. But if it''s a human out there, it''d be really difficult for them not to recognize another human as soon as they saw one. I guess I''ll have to take the risk, I''m freaking starving!


    I crawled on hands and knees to the entrance of the shed, trying and likely failing to keep my back from rising above the level of the grass. When I reached the ramp, I crawled inside and stood, my stiff body still protesting. I peered out the door while hiding as much of my body inside the shed as possible, but couldn''t see anything. The sun was casting its last rays on the day, so the shadow of the shed stretched across the field to the horizon, and as I continued to study the emptiness to the East, the shadows finally disappeared.


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    Well, at least now I won''t have the sun directly in my eyes if I go around to look in the other direction. I should probably put a peep hole on each side of this thing so I can see out without having to actually go outside. Too bad we didn''t get the unit with windows in each wall. I never saw the point of having that much light in here. Kinda biting me in the ass now, isn''t it? Though I guess if I can''t see out, nothing can see in, either. Not that windows on a shed are typically anything but "cloudy" at best.


    I crouched low and duck-walked around the North side of the shed, staring away from it until I got to the corner. From there, I peeked around to the South and West, to find the source of that brief, tantalizing cooking smell, still with no luck. That just left directly on the South side of the shed, which I crept around to even more slowly, assuming whoever it was would be able to see me if I stood out too much. Looking out from around the corner, I saw...absolutely nothing.


    Well shit, that means they''re far enough away that the horizon is obscuring them, at least from this height. Should I get on top of the shed and look? I have no idea what adding that amount of vantage will do, but it would be better than looking from ground level, right? Although it''ll definitely paint me as a really, really obvious target. Bud God, I''m so hungry. Look, let''s go inside, take a breather, have some water, and mull this over some more.


    Being less cautious, since I felt like I was unlikely to be seen if I couldn''t see anyone either, I continued around the South side of the shed, back around to the door, and parked myself on a bucket back inside. With the sun gone, it was pretty hard to see in there, but was that or be out in the open.


    I had gone back for another jug of water during the second round of digging, but wouldn''t you know it, it was still sitting next to the grave. I opened a third one and took a few gulps to put something into my stomach, and hopefully clear my head of a little of my hunger drive.


    Alright. From a totally logical standpoint, climbing on top of the shed for a look around is a monumentally bad idea. If I was reading a book where the protagonist did something like that, I''d call them and the author an idiot who was trying to shove the plot forward. So, I''m not going to be that idiot. I''m going to stay right here, and hope that as it gets darker, a fire on the horizon will provide some kind of glow to use for navigation. Come to think of it, building a fire in an area as open as this is basically shouting "Hey, I''m here! Come over here!" to anything with a brain within five miles. Maybe not the brightest person. Or maybe they''re just really strong and attracting danger isn''t a problem for them. What constitutes "strong" here, anyway? Are there levels? If so, what level am I? How would I check? Usually this is where the main character says "Status" and a window pops up. I''m gonna feel like a freaking idiot if this doesn''t work.


    Squatting on a five gallon bucket, in a garden shed, in the dark, in some weird alternate universe, I said "Status" out loud.

 Chapter 6

    Name: Trevor Bluem


    Job: None


    HP: 20/20


    MP: 5/5


    Skills:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Swordsmanship - Level 1 - Exp 1/100</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Digging - Level 3 - Exp 225/300</li>


    </ul>


    It. Freaking. Worked!


    Suspended in the air about two feet in front of me was a neutral gray window, a foot square with white text showing my information. It was what I would call a "hologram", even though no such thing existed, at least in the real world. Maybe more like something in an AR headset. The window didn''t actually cast any light onto anything around it, but I could see it clearly. Definitely more like AR, then.


    I tried moving my head around, but the window didn''t follow it or my eyes. I stood up, and it came with me, though, and traveled around as I rotated my torso. It seemed to be "anchored" somewhere within my chest, for all the good that knowledge did me.


    Alright. So I really am in a game world. As if the gnoll wasn''t enough evidence. Oh crap he''s still not buried, and I don''t need to be traipsing around an open hole in the dark. Oh man, I hope nothing comes after the body overnight. Should I maybe at least get him into the hole, to make it harder for scavengers? Yeah, let''s do that while we wait to see whether the fire shows up on the horizon. But I want to play with this status window some more first. But scavengers...Okay, let''s at least figure out how to dismiss the status window. The most obvious ideas are to say "Status" again, or "Dismiss". Let''s give those a shot.


    A feeling of foolishness persisted, even after my earlier success, to be saying it out loud, but I spoke the word "Status" again.


    Nothing happened. Alright, let''s try the other option.


    "Dismiss." I said to no one, fighting a nervous grin.


    The window disappeared, without even an afterimage in my retinas. Alright, that was simple enough. Now let''s go deal with our deceased friend. I can come back to this later.


    Back on hands and knees, I crawled toward the pile of earth, keeping an eye out for the depression in the grass signifying the location of the corpse. I hardly had to bother, since I smelled it before I could see it. At this point, I would either have to roll the body from a kneeling position, or stand up and try grabbing onto appendages.


    Staying low is definitely the smarter track, so let''s see about the rolling method first. Ugh, I''m gonna have to use some water to rinse my hands after this...


    Wedging my fingers under the now stiff body, I used my own stiff muscles to roll the gnoll from its front to its back.


    I hadn''t really prepared myself for an unobstructed view of the creature''s front. It wasn''t pretty.


    Every muscle in the body relaxes upon death, so the tongue had fallen out, and the eyes were still open. And then as muscles started to stiffen in rigor mortis, the tongue had stayed in place, to a macabre comical effect against the glassy eyes and dried blood. There were also flies in the dozens all over the place. My eyes were drawn to a lighter color than the gnoll''s dark brown fur near its waist.


    Are those...ears? Human ears? Oh god. Oh god that''s so freaking gross! It''s got human ears on a string like trophies! Ugh, that''s so...monstrous. I guess I don''t need to feel guilty about killing it anymore, though, right? It would definitely have killed me if I hadn''t taken my chance first. Still, I can''t just go swinging a machete at every unfamiliar thing that approaches me! I''m sure I''m gonna come into contact with peaceful non-human races, if this world sticks to the "game" aspects. I can''t be so reactionary in the future, or I''ll be in huge trouble.


    But speaking of the machete, did this thing have a weapon? In all the moving around and digging, I haven''t seen anything...


    Throwing my eyes over the rest of the gnoll''s body in the dying light, I only saw the handle of a knife in a leather pouch on the waistband of the loincloth, right next to the ear trophies. Looking more closely at the hands, the claws were indeed long and sharp enough to tear through unarmored skin.


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    So it likely uses claws, and maybe its fangs, for weapons, and maybe the knife to cut off the ears? Probably. Should I take the knife? It would be good to have more than one actual weapon, especially one I can sort of conceal. A Swiss Army knife doesn''t really count as a weapon, let''s be real. Fine, so how do I get this holster off of the loincloth? I don''t want to fuss around with trying to untie it, so I''ll just cut it.


    I retrieved the small knife from my pocket, flipped open the spring-loaded blade, and gingerly slipped it under the crude rope holding up the filthy cloth. It only took a second or two of work to slice through, then another second to slip the loop of leather off of the rope.


    Will this fit on my belt? It looks like it should. But maybe I should rinse it off first, everything about this guy is filthy. I''ll just tuck it into my back pocket for now.


    My "looting" finished, I wedged my fingers under my victim''s back and heaved it over one more time, straight into the open grave. A nervous giggle did escape me at the "whumpf" sound of the rigid form landing nearly six feet below. Obviously, I was still under some mental strain.


    Alright, it''s at least in the hole now, and scavengers will have a hard time deciding to jump down there without an easy way back out. Probably. Regardless, it''s too dark to be handling a shovel right now. And I''m still starving, though I can''t smell that grilling any more. Pretty soon it''ll be dark enough to see a campfire in the distance, though. That is, if it''s still burning. I''ll have to decide how I want to approach that. If it''s not still burning, I have no way of knowing which way to go, so the decision will have been made for me. Let''s get back to shelter, at least.


    I crawled back toward the shed, realizing as I did that the grass had been flattened sufficiently enough to make it obvious to any passerby that someone had been here. Well, aside from the shed and the pile of dirt beside an open grave with a body in it. Nothing I could do about any of it at that moment.


    Reaching the inside of the shed, I parked myself on the bucket once more to think about my next move.


    The first thing to decide is whether I believe anything other than a human would be able or inclined to light a fire and cook meat. Well, human or some other sentient race. So what do I believe about that? The gnoll hadn''t had any obvious fire-making tools in its possession, but that didn''t mean it couldn''t bang two rocks together to make a spark, or spin a stick to generate friction. But based on the crud around its claws, I doubt it cooked its meat before eating. So that''s one monster race knocked out of contention for the mystery griller. Beyond that, anything else would be conjecture. The only thing I can say for sure is that if there is any race that CAN and WILL start a fire to cook meat, it would be human.


    With that in mind, I''ll say that I''m 50/50 that whoever or whatever was grilling won''t try to kill me as soon as it sees me. And it definitely will see me, a long way off, due to how flat this place is. Likely the only reason it hasn''t seen me yet is because it''s far enough away that the horizon has bent the shed behind the grass closer to them. It''s literally like a beacon for anything close enough to see.


    Assuming I''m able to find the direction of the fire, do I approach? I have to, right? I have no idea where I am, I have no food, and limited water. I won''t last long on my own, so I''ll just have to trust in human kindness. Or whatever race''s kindness. Okay. Let''s see if we can find that glow.


    Looking out the door, there was no longer any light in the Eastern sky. Stepping out and around the shed, I could still see a line of faint orange outlining the mountains to the West, but that was it. I closed my eyes for a few seconds to adjust away from the relative brightness to the west, then began to peer in the other cardinal directions as I walked around the shed.


    To the South, I saw a few bright stars, but no telltale orange glow from a fire. To the East, it was an even faster check, as the sky was that much darker. To the North, however, I detected a faint dome of orange cut by the soft line of the horizon.


    That''s gotta be it. I don''t smell cooking anymore, but it''s been at least an hour, so they''ve probably finished and eaten already. Okay, North it is. I should probably bring some things with me, not the least of which would be water and the machete. Oh, and I need to rinse off this gnoll knife. I''ll go ahead and gear up with the rope and tool belt like I had intended to before I started digging.


    Back inside the shed, I closed the door, then used some of my precious battery, now at 42 percent, to give enough light to pass the belt through the loop on the machete''s cloth sleeve, then buckle on the belt and loop the rope over my shoulder. I picked up the mostly full third jug of water and grabbed the sleeping bag stored on a shelf against the back wall, and turned the light back off.


    They might be friendly enough to let me share their camp, you never know. Wait, 42 percent? It shouldn''t have died that much so quickly. Oh shit, searching for a signal will kill the battery faster than anything! Gotta put it on airplane mode.


    I pulled the phone back out and swiped and tapped until all three radio antennas were disabled.


    There! Now the battery might last through the night. Not much past that, though... Well, I''ll deal with that when it comes. I honestly don''t care about the phone itself, I just don''t want to lose access to the pictures. Patricia...


    A sigh slipped past my lips at the thought of never seeing even a facsimile of my wife''s face again, before I dropped my phone into my pocket and took my first steps to the North.

 Chapter 7

    I decided to take another look at my status window as I walked. Some part of my brain still believed there was no such thing, but when I said "Status" out loud, there it was.


    Name: Trevor Bluem


    Job: None


    HP: 20/20


    MP: 5/5


    Skills:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Swordsmanship - Level 1 - Exp 1/100</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Digging - Level 3 - Exp 225/300</li>


    </ul>


    I barked out a laugh after seeing the ¡°Digging¡± skill. I guess that would have leveled up somewhat after digging a damned grave. Which is still open. But we¡¯ll deal with that later. So no ¡°Intelligence¡± or ¡°Fortitude¡± eh? And it looks like skills are picked up and leveled by actually doing them. I wonder what this ¡°Job: None¡± mea¨C


    "Ah!" I let out a short shout in shock as the ground rapidly rose to meet my body. I found myself with stinging palms and bruised knees, and most of my belongings having been dropped or flung after tripping on something in the dark.


    "Ohhhh geez that hurts. Fuck!" I let loose an expletive to attempt to manage the pain in my patellae. Rolling onto my behind and clutching my knees, I continued to rant in my head.


    Dammit that hurts ! gonna be bruised on top of stiff and sore tomorrow. Lovely first day we''re having, here. I guess that''s what I get for staring at a screen instead of paying attention to walking. Shit. Alright, let''s grab a drink and--dammit, where is the water jug? And half of my tools are gone too. Am I ever gonna be able to find them in the grass in the dark? I do have the flashlight on my phone, but some of this stuff is really small and the grass is really packed. I guess the only thing to do is try.


    Gingerly standing up, I dismissed the status window and reached into my pocket to pull out my phone. Once the flashlight was on, I pretty immediately found larger things like the hammer, folding hex wrench set, wire cutters, and measuring tape. It took some crouching and scanning to find the small pair of needle nose pliers, and I never did locate the quick connect drill bit holder.


    Well, I''m not likely to be able to use an electric drill here anyway. There''s the water jug, and thankfully it hasn''t popped open. Ah, can''t forget about the sleeping bag!


    After taking a swig, I looked back to the South and could barely see the outline of the shed against the starry sky. I had come about half a mile, not far at all, and it was already that hard to see? Maybe it wasn''t as much of a beacon as I had originally feared.


    Turning Northward, I could still see the glow of the fire on the horizon. A half mile apparently hadn''t made much difference.


    Alright, let''s keep moving. NOT staring at the status window, this time.


    I hitched up my tool belt, then resumed the march.


    Even without the distraction of the status window, navigating overland in the dark is difficult. I could have turned on my phone flashlight, but I didn''t want to make myself a target--human eyes can detect a single photon, after all--at the same time as ruining my night vision and killing the battery. So I mostly kept my head down, watching my feet, only occasionally looking toward the faint orange glow on the horizon.


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    -


    About an hour later, I was thankful for the exertion of trudging across the grasslands, since the early Spring night had turned chilly.


    Well, assuming it''s actually Spring, here. It could be mid- to late fall, for all I know. I''m really hoping it''s not going to get any colder before I can reinforce and insulate my shelter. I''ll be dead before the new year if I can''t stockpile food, too.


    At the thought of food, my attention was drawn again to my cramping stomach. I looked to the North, and at first couldn''t find the campfire''s glow. After a frantic moment of searching, I was able to detect the lighter patch against the stars, but it was definitely growing more faint, not brighter.


    Crap, they''re probably asleep and the fire is going out! If I can''t reach them before the light is completely gone, what do I do? I guess I''d have to zip myself into the sleeping bag in the open. Yeesh, not a comforting thought. I''ll have to pick up the pace to have any hope of reaching them tonight. What time is it anyway? Phone says it''s only 9 PM, they must be early risers. Though I guess most people would be if they lived by the sun. Gah, and the battery is at 40 percent too. It was never going to last forever, but I don''t have to be happy about it.


    Making such a migration with several pounds of water dangling from one hand, and the drawstring of a couple of pounds of cloth cutting off circulation in the other, was definitely less than a fun experience. But there was nothing else I could do, so I kept putting one achy foot in front of the other.


    -


    When I finally detected the smell of smoke, I checked my phone to see that it was now 10:28 PM. To the North, the glow of the fire hadn''t seemed to have changed much, so at least I could still use it for navigation.


    Maybe they had woken up to add fuel to the fire? I''m guessing that''s why the glow hasn''t completely disappeared. It''s definitely late enough that I should be sleeping as well. But I''m so close! At least, I think I am. But dang, two and a half hours? Assuming I was walking at about two miles per hour, and adding in the distance before I tripped, that would be three-ish miles. Assuming I have another mile to go, I can''t get there before eleven. But I ought to be able to actually see the camp soon, right?


    As luck would have it, my timing was pretty accurate in this case. Less than five minutes later, I noticed a sharp, angled shadow against the soft orange light at the horizon.


    It''s too far to tell for sure, but that could easily be the edge of a tent! Almost there! Come on Trevor, you''ve got this. But I definitely don''t want to seem like I''m trying to sneak up on them--as if I could, out here. I should try making some noise as I approach. What would work for that? Uh, I have wire cutters, measuring tape, hex keys, screwdrivers, a hammer...actually, now that I think about it, I''m making some amount of racket as I walk anyway with all of this clinking in these pockets. But I''d rather be safe than sorry. So....maybe if I extend the measuring tape a foot or two, lock in place, then hang it, it''ll occasionally rattle? Oh! It would probably also be a good idea to approach with my hands up. Universal sign for "I''m not a threat" and all.


    I tried out that plan, taking a few steps. It didn''t quite bend and snap the way I wanted, but I had hung it near the hammer loop, so it was banging into the wooden handle with about every other step.


    That will work! Alright, warm fire and hopefully something to eat, here I come!


    I started moving again, taking large, heavy steps so I would clank and jingle as much as possible. I had to hold back a chuckle at the mental image of me stomping around like a robot from a bad ''60s sci-fi movie.


    Only ten minutes later, I had my eyes trained directly on the fire, which I could partially see around the edge of what I had correctly assumed was a low, single-person A-frame tent. So I was only mildly surprised when the flap of said tent was thrown open, and a figure half-stumbled out, brandishing a blade in my direction.


    I stopped where I was, and raised my hands even higher before speaking.


    "Hel--uh, hello there!" I hadn''t spoken except to myself all day, so I had to clear my throat to get the volume needed to carry across forty feet or so.


    "My name is Trevor Bluem," I continued. "I''m a little lost, and I smelled your cooking from a couple of miles South. Do you think you could help me out? Maybe share a little food and let me sleep by the fire? I can do some work to repay you, if you want--I don''t have any money on me right now."


    The figure, silhouetted by the fire, stood a little straighter, but did not lower the blade. Their empty hand came up to near their face, and then they spoke.

 Chapter 8

    The problem was, I couldn¡¯t understand a word of it.


    Ah shit. Of freaking COURSE they wouldn''t speak English! This isn''t just another country, it''s another plane of existence! Crap. What do I do now?


    As I berated myself for the lack of common sense, the stranger--a man, I could now tell by his voice--repeated himself. While I recognized plenty of hard ¡°T¡± and ¡°K¡± sounds, the words may as well have been gibberish to me.


    Pointing to my ear and shaking my head left to right, I did my best to communicate that I did not understand the man while communicating the same thing out loud.


    "I''m sorry sir, I can''t understand what you''re saying. It looks like we don''t speak the same language," I finished, taking a step toward him.


    The man immediately dropped into a defensive stance and shouted something that obviously meant "Don''t move!", so I stepped right back and raised my arms higher, with no clue how to end the cross-lingual stalemate.


    Thankfully, it seemed that he had come to the same conclusion about the language barrier, and began gesturing around to his right, with the knife.


    If I want to get along with him, I have to be as meek as possible for the time being. He speaks the language, has the weapon, the camp, and the food¨Call of the power, in other words. I hope I get to put my arms down soon though. The water and sleeping bag aren''t that heavy, but holding anything over your head for an extended period is tough!


    Keeping my arms nice and high, I began to walk in the direction he had indicated until he held up his unarmed hand to stop me directly opposite the fire from himself and the tent.


    With the fire now between us, I could see his face. He looked older than I was, but not by much¨Cthough it was difficult to tell around the full beard. It was tinted by the orange firelight but probably brown, with no gray that I could see. Our eyes were at about the same level, as far as I could tell from twenty feet away with only flickering firelight for illumination. One thing I could be sure of, even in the dark, was that he was bigger around than me. Some of that volume came from the number of furs he was wearing, but there was no doubt he had at least thirty pounds over my one hundred seventy.


    He beckoned me toward him with the knife, so I complied, coming to a stop next to the fire when he raised his other hand again. Pointing his knife up at my hands, holding the water jug and sleeping bag drawstring, he then pointed down to the ground. I gratefully dropped the two next to me and shook out my hands.


    He began to study me, placing hands on his hips, and keeping the knife in his right hand. I studied him right back.


    This close, I could see freckles and wrinkles above the beard. He obviously spent a lot of time working outside; he was probably a hunter or trapper, out here. His eyes were a light color, but I couldn''t tell exactly whether they were blue or green without a stronger source of light. There were wrinkles around those eyes, definitely at least from squinting, if not also smiling.


    I''d never seen an outfit like his in person--it looked instead like something you''d see in a movie about pioneers and the old West.


    Well, how different is this situation from the pre-industrial West? If I''d had food stored in the shed, I probably would have stuck around it and started trapping and hunting myself, then wearing the skins.


    Finished with his appraisal, the stranger pointed the knife at my tool belt, then at the ground, just like with the water and sleeping bag. I nodded and put my hands up at shoulder height to turn around and show him that I was unbuckling the belt from behind. I don''t want him to think I''m reaching for a weapon.


    After the belt was unhooked, I turned to face him again, then bent to set the belt on the ground. He then dropped his knife into its sheath on his belt and smiled at me, likely comforted that I was unarmed now. Which I honestly was, with both the machete and the gnoll''s knife attached to the tool belt.


    The stranger then placed his hand on his chest, and spoke what I assumed was his name.


    Dammit, I wasn''t paying attention and didn''t really hear what he said. I think this is definitely a situation where I''m alright asking someone to repeat themselves!


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    I made what I hoped was a puzzled expression at him, and raised my hand to my ear, leaning forward. It seemed that he understood that I had not understood, because he tapped his chest and repeated three syllables:¡±Yo-jo-ti".


    "Yojoti?" I parroted, trying to mimic his pronunciation.


    He smiled, clapped his hands, and nodded. He then gestured toward me with his own look of questioning. I placed my hand on my chest and spoke my own name, "Trevor"


    "Trebor?" came Yojoti''s attempt at my name.


    Shaking my head, I repeated my name more slowly, emphasizing pressing my bottom lip against my upper teeth. "Tre-vvvvvor"


    "Trevor?", he tried again. I repeated his "affirmative" actions by smiling, clapping, and nodding.


    Yojoti appeared terribly pleased with himself, and I couldn''t stop smiling either. He extended his right hand toward me, in what appeared to be a request for a handshake. I extended my own and stepped toward him a little cautiously. He took his own step, and then our hands were clasped in greeting.


    Yojoti beamed further and used his left hand to clap my right shoulder while repeating "Trevor!" I responded with my own "Yojoti!", and we repeated the process once more before breaking our grip.


    As Yojoti stepped back, he gestured toward the fire and took a seat on the ground himself. I gratefully obliged, groaning down in relief to be off my feet.


    Alright, I''ve been accepted as NOT an enemy. Sweet. Man, it''s nice to not be afraid for my life now. It''s gonna be really tough to communicate, but it seems Yojoti is really amiable, so we''ll probably figure things out over time. That is, assuming we''ll be spending more than just tonight together. He''s probably got other things going on that he needs to do and might not have time to teach a foreigner how to survive and speak his language while he does it. Well, I''ll worry more about that tomorrow. For now, let''s see if I can beg some food and a place to sleep for the night.


    It turned out that I didn''t even need to ask for food, as Yojoti pretty immediately leaned back to reach into his tent and drag out a ruck sack, then fish out a piece of bread and jerky.


    He held the bread up and said a word, which I repeated. He repeated it more slowly, and I adjusted my pronunciation. Once I got the pronunciation correct, he plopped it into my hand repeating the word for "bread". We repeated the same process with the jerky, though I would have to clarify later whether the word was for "jerky", or "meat", or maybe for whatever specific kind of meat the jerky was made from. Once they were both in my hands, he brought his own to his mouth and mimed taking a bite, then said a word I assumed was "eat", which I repeated as well. He nodded and repeated the motion, so I took it as an invitation to go ahead and eat.


    Both were pretty hard, as preserved foods tend to be, but tasted fine and more importantly, put something into my stomach. After a couple of bites, I reached around for my water jug and chugged some to wash the hardtack down. After removing the rim from my lips, I sighed and paused before finishing off the life-sustaining gifts.


    I glanced over at Yojoti, who gestured toward the water jug and spoke a word, raising his eyebrows.


    I''m not sure whether he''s asking about the jug itself, or the water inside. Let''s see if we can find out.


    I held up the jug, tapped the outside, and said "jug". Yojoti reached into the pack to pull out what looked like a canteen and said his word for the container, which I repeated. He then removed the cap and pointed his finger inside the canteen, and said a different word.


    Ah, that must be the word for "water". I repeated the word, raising my eyebrows and pointing inside my own jug, and Yojoti nodded.


    I''ve never managed to really learn a language before. I had some success learning Spanish, but not anywhere near fluency. But I guess not having any option for speaking English will be a big catalyst for getting this sooner rather than later.


    Capping and setting the jug down, I held a questioning hand toward Yojoti and said the word for "bread", trying to communicate that I was still hungry. He nodded and grabbed out another roll for me.


    After washing down the second roll, I was hit by a wave of fatigue. I guess the stress, sun, hard work, and travel have finally gotten to me, being with another person in an environment where adrenaline wasn¡¯t necessary. I really need some sleep.


    Turning to Yojoti, I placed my palms together, then laid my cheek against them and closed my eyes for a moment, saying "sleep".


    Yojoti responded with a nod and a word, which I repeated. He began to look into his pack, but I waved a hand and shook my head at him, reaching for my sleeping bag, still rolled up. I undid the straps and rolled it out next to the fire, and Yojoti''s eyebrows rose with a nod of understanding. He turned around to crawl into his small a-frame tent, then poked his head out to speak a last word, which I took to mean "good night". I repeated it back to him, and zipped myself into my own sleeping bag.


    I don''t have a pillow, but I''m so tired that I don''t care. I survived a day in a fantasy wilderness, and tomorrow probably won''t be much easier. I''ll figure things out more once I have some rest, in the light of day.


    In case the battery died overnight, I spent a few minutes gazing at my favorite picture of my wife, before tucking the phone away. Good night, Patricia.

 Chapter 9

    Yojoti and I rose, of course, with the sun. The moment of confusion about my situation was there, but it didn''t last long, feeling the rough ground of the small clearing in which Yojoti had set up camp through the sleeping bag--which now felt like laying on a threadbare sheet. I covered my eyes with my hands, regretting that I had no way to extend my sleeping time. Although even if it was dark enough, my bladder was singing a song as well.


    The first thing I miss from home, and it''s blackout curtains. Where are my priorities? Whatever. I''m even more stiff and sore than I thought I''d be. Sleeping on the ground, even with a sleeping bag, is ROUGH. And that''s on top of all the digging and walking yesterday. They call fifty "over the hill", but even thirty feels like it was ages ago, right this moment.


    "Uuugh. Oh man." I couldn''t help an audible complaint as I rolled over and fought my way off the ground. Yojoti, who had crawled out of his tent and was dismantling it, shot a sympathetic look in my direction, mumbling something I had to assume meant "Yeah, I understand", or maybe "I''m not surprised".


    I staggered sheepishly out into the grass to relieve myself, purposefully not making eye contact with Yojoti as I came back. Kneeling down to roll up the sleeping bag, an Idea came to me.


    I''m not a fan of carrying this thing in my hands, in any fashion. What if I looped the rope through the center  of the roll to hang it off my shoulder on my back? It''d definitely be easier than hand-carrying it. Two passes through ought to be enough, don''t you think? It''d be even better if I had one of those packs where I could just strap it to the top or bottom, but I never owned one in the first place, let alone had it stored in the shed. This is the best I can do for now.


    After another fight up to vertical, I tried looping the coil of rope over my shoulder again, and the sleeping bag slid down to hang behind my left elbow, rather than in the middle of my back as I had expected.


    Oh yeah, gravity. The only way to keep it up in the middle would be to do something like loop the rope around it, and then somehow attach the rope coil itself to my shirt to prevent it from just sliding around as the weight of the sleeping bag pulled it down. I don¡¯t have a way to do that, but this is way better than having my hands full with it.


    Hmm. I wonder whether Yojoti trusts me enough to pick my "weapons" back up? I guess we''ll find out.


    "Yojoti!" I called to my latest acquaintance, and he looked up from stowing his own bed roll. I pointed at my tool belt, then mimed passing my hands around my waist. He considered for a moment before an "Aha!" expression lit up his face. His eyes crinkled as he waved a dismissive hand at me and smiled, returning to his work.


    Okay, looks like we''re pretty cool with each other. "You didn''t try to kill me in my sleep, so I guess letting you carry your weapons is fine" is probably a good enough basis for a tentative partnership.


    Bending down for the third time wasn''t quite as bad as the second time. After straightening, I settled the belt on my hips and buckled it behind my back, jingling all the way.


    Yojoti had finished packing himself and was sitting next to the nearly dead coals munching on hard tack. In the strongest moment of clich¨¦ ever, my stomach growled while watching him. He chuckled, pulling out another roll and tossing it to me. I fumbled a bit, but the bread didn''t fall. Yojoti smacked the ground and spoke a word, which I supposed meant "sit". I caught his eye and repeated the word while beginning to crouch, and he nodded as I finished my descent.


    I guess I''ve got words for "bread," "jerky," "sleep", and "sit" now. I think it''s important to establish "yes" and "no" too. But how? It looks like nodding or shaking your head have the same meanings here, as far as I can tell. Let''s give it a try.


    "Yojoti?" I called his name and pointed to my head, making an exaggerated nod. "Yes," I said, hoping to convey that I wanted him to share the word in his language. His word was just one syllable as well, which I repeated. He pointed at me and repeated the word, which I took for an affirmative.


    Next I repeated the sequence, this time shaking my head side to side and saying "no". Yojoti gave his word, which I repeated, then he called out the "yes" word, pointing at me.


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    Ok, I think we have those settled. Time to double check!


    I pointed to him and said "Yojoti, yes. Trevor, no". Then pointing at myself, "Trevor, yes. Yojoti, no".


    "Aaah! Yes! Yes!" Yojoti exclaimed. I clapped and gave a little hoot myself. It feels good to communicate and accomplish things! Mildly proud of myself, even if it''s just a small thing.


    From there, we spent some time going back and forth identifying different items around the camp as the sun truly rose. Rocks, fire, sun, sleeping bag, tent, knife, bow, hammer, and more joined my vocabulary. Not that I have a chance in hell of remembering everything perfectly on the first try.


    Oh! I''d like to show Yojoti to the shed, in case we can find or put together anything useful there. It also wouldn''t hurt to have his help burying the gnoll. Let''s see if I can get my message across.


    I called Yojoti, then started drawing on the ground. First, a right angle for the roof, then an open square underneath it, and then a rectangle in the middle of the square. Hmm, if I say "shed" here, he''ll probably respond with "house", which is what this looks like. That''ll be close enough for the time being, until I get more vocabulary and can communicate the difference better.


    I pointed to my masterpiece and said "house". Yojoti didn''t miss a beat and spoke his word, which I would take for "house" for the time being. I then caught his eye and pointed to the South while repeating it. He raised his eyebrows at me and made an "Aah" sound. I pointed two fingers down and flipped them back and forth past each other while saying "walk". Yojoti gave his word, so I responded by pointing back and forth between us and saying "Yojoti, Trevor, walk house?"


    Yojoti shrugged and nodded, glancing at the sun''s position.


    Oh yeah, we need some way to establish time and numbers. Hmm. There''s no way to know if they measure time in hours, but I have a reasonable understanding that days are about the same length based on the matching time from my phone--which is surely almost dead now. I guess we''ll start with numbers. I hope I''m not putting him out too much. I also hope I have some way to repay him for his food and kindness. We can''t just keep eating his supplies out here indefinitely.


    I caught Yojoti''s attention and drew a single line on the ground, saying "one". Yojoti looked puzzled, so I drew another and said "two", and so on through "five," crossing through the other four in the old time prisoner''s way of counting days.


    "Ah!" Yojoti exclaimed as he understood. He held up fingers as he counted out for me up to ten. I repeated them back, then made a questioning face as I started over with one finger saying "eleven". Yojoti nodded and continued on up to twenty.


    It seems like it may be similar to Spanish, just adding the new digit up to ten to the word for the current "ten" place. Hopefully there''s nothing crazy like "four twenties" meaning eighty in French. Now, about times...This will be the biggest chance for not being able to figure things out so far, but let''s try this idea.


    I pointed at the sun with my left hand, then traced an arc overhead toward the West, following all the way back around to my left hand, then said the word for "twenty four".


    Yojoti looked puzzled. Not surprising. It''s highly likely they measure days and hours differently here. Let''s try a different direction.


    I waved my hands to sort of "reset" the question.


    I pointed at the sun and said "morning", then pointed directly overhead and said "noon", followed by pointing to the West and saying "evening".


    This time Yojoti said "Yes!" and mimicked my actions with three more words. I repeated them a couple of times to commit them to memory as best as I could.


    This time I pointed to the sun and said "morning" followed by counting up to six, then "noon" followed by counting to six again, then "evening".


    Yojoti still looked at me blankly, gently shaking his head. I guess it''s possible they don''t actually measure time in hours, only sections of the day. Or at least Yojoti doesn''t, out here away from civilization. I still want to try to communicate that we should be able make it to the "house" before noon.


    I shrugged at Yojoti and shook my head. "Walk house noon, no," I said, hoping it would communicate my intention. Yojoti pondered for a second, then said "Yes!" and a word I didn''t know yet. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he put a hand out in front himself saying "noon," then chopped a hand between the first one and himself, repeating the new word.


    Oh, that probably means "before"! I clapped once in excitement and said "Yes! Walk house before noon!", and Yojoti gave his own nod of approval to show that he understood.


    Man, this is kind of fun! Who knew that learning a language could be so enjoyable? I''m looking forward to being able to convey things better, but this process of discovery is honestly its own reward along the way. Well, let''s get "along the way" back to the shed before the morning gets away from us.


    I pointed South and asked Yojoti "Walk?" He nodded, and we were on our way.

 Chapter 10

    Walking cross-country is easier during the day, who''d''a thunk? Especially with company.


    Yojoti and I had been walking Southward for about an hour, with me learning vocabulary along the way. Yojoti would point at grass, or a bird, or the mountains to the West, and share their names with me. I did my best to remember them all, but no mind is perfect.


    I wish I had somewhere to write down these words, at least phonetically. I''m sure there''s a completely different writing system here that I''ll have to learn as well. Whenever we make it back to civilization, I''ll have to find somewhere to focus on learning the language. Well, I guess that depends on how much time I spend with Yojoti and learn from him, now that I think about it. It wouldn''t be a bad idea to stick with him for a while and learn trapping and survival skills at the same time. On the other hand, I really hate the idea of being illiterate. I''ll address it when the time comes, I guess.


    "Ah!" Yojoti suddenly exclaimed. He said a new word and put his hand out, presumably telling me to stop, so I did. He then moved about ten steps away, and crooked his finger at me while speaking a word, which I guessed was "come". I repeated it and he said "Yes", still crooking his finger at me. I stepped forward and then he put his hand back out and spoke the original word, which was apparently "stop". I did so and repeated the word, receiving a nod in reply. I practiced the words while repeating the motions that Yojoti had made, and he gave me a "Yes!" in confirmation.


    After that, he swept his arm out across the plain, and then hunched over and balled his fists, making a very angry-looking face, stomping back and forth, repeating a new word.


    I guess that''s probably "monster"? That first gesture looked like he meant there are monsters out there. Definitely need to be careful, then. I wonder if that word is for a specific kind of monster, like the gnoll I killed. Although if it were me, I''d use my hands to mime out a long snout and then fingers to imitate the ears. Heck, why don''t I try that and see what the word for "gnoll" is?


    I repeated the "monster" word, and received a "Yes!" from Yojoti. Then motioned for him to watch me and repeated his movements while using my hands to mimic the gnoll''s features. Yojoti raised his eyebrows as he understood my meaning, and gave me the new word for that specific kind of monster.


    Sweet. I should probably warn him about the dead one ahead. Hmm, what would the word for "dead" be anyway?


    I drew my finger across my neck while sticking my tongue out and rolling my eyes back, then opened a hand to Yojoti, requesting the word. He gave a nod and spoke, and I repeated it to get the pronunciation right.


    Pointing to the South, I said "House, gnoll dead."


    Yojoti gave me the biggest look of surprise yet and rattled off a sentence that was clearly a question, but I hadn''t any idea what he was asking. I put my hands up and stepped back to show that I wasn''t getting it. Yojoti stopped and laughed, speaking to himself. Probably something like "oh yeah, he can¡¯t understand me".


    He then pointed at the machete hanging from my belt and asked "gnoll dead?"


    "Yes," I responded. "Walk?"


    Yojoti nodded and we were back "on the road". Except with nothing remotely resembling a road on which to walk.


    -


    It took two more hours, but we finally arrived at the shed. The first thing Yojoti noticed, after the shed itself, was the pile of earth next to the open grave.


    He pointed to it and asked "gnoll?"


    I nodded and said "Yes," as Yojoti stepped in that direction.


    Coming to the edge of the grave, Yojoti set his pack down next to the pile of earth and looked down at the body of the gnoll, which now had maggots crawling everywhere and a stench to match. He was looking at it in an appraising manner, muttering to himself with his hand on his chin.


    He then turned to me and spoke a new word, then gestured in front of himself at about arm''s length, making "L"s with his index and forefingers, forming a frame.


    Hey, that looks like about the size and position of the "Status" window! Apparently I''m not special, there. I wonder if he''ll be able to see mine, or if you''re limited to seeing your own? Huh, on that note, will using his new word open the window as well as me saying it in English?


    I repeated Yojoti''s word for "Status," and the gray window appeared as it had previously. Except, not exactly.


    Whoa! This must be Yojoti''s language! So that''s what the characters look like. Pretty angular, I imagine it''d be fairly difficult to mess up brush- or pen-strokes while writing. Anyway, so the language you say "Status" in changes the display language? That''s pretty neat. Kind of like a game automatically applying the user''s computer''s locale settings.


    So, that at the top is what my name looks like? If it''s a phonetic language, and each symbol is a sound, that would be too many syllables. Oh wait! This is a good opportunity to ask Yojoti.


    The man himself was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me, inspecting my stats with the same expression as he had used on the gnoll''s body. I waved to get his attention, then pointed to each of the lines in the panel in turn, looking at him with my eyebrows raised.


    He nodded and pointed at the first line which, if I remembered correctly, began with "Name:¡±, and read the word out loud for me. I repeated it and Yojoti nodded, moving down the list for each of the other items.


    After going through the list, I pointed to each of the characters in my name in turn, with Yojoti reading the sounds out for me.


    Huh, it does seem to be a phonetic language. But why all the extra syllables? Much too difficult a question to try to ask right now. Also not important at this moment. Vocab and speaking are priorities over writing in this situation.


    After perusing my ¡°Status¡± window for a bit, waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, and gave me a new word. I said it and the window disappeared.


    I wanted to surprise Yojoti a little, so I said "Status" in English, and the window appeared. I gestured for Yojoti to look, but only received his "puzzled" face.


    Huh. Why can''t he see the English version? Is it because he can''t speak English? No, I can''t speak his language, but I was able to see that version. I wish I had a manual for this world. Wait. IS there a manual?


    Out loud, I said "Manual," to no effect. Hmm.


    "Menu?" Still nothing.


    "Help." No reaction.


    So is "Status" the only thing I have access to? While it''s helpful, I feel a little let down. If this were a game, you''d think there would be more available to help new "players".


    Deciding to leave the mysteries for another time, I dismissed the English "Status" window and went to stand beside Yojoti, who was again peering into the grave.


    Without warning, Yojoti crouched down and dropped into the grave, fur-clad feet landing on either side of the gnoll''s body. He pulled out his belt knife and quickly cut off the gnoll''s pointed ears, then straightened up and placed them out of the grave before putting his knife away and hoisting himself back up.


    I stared at him in bewilderment as he picked up the ears and held them out to me. When I didn''t reach for them, he said "Ah!" and gave a knowing look. He stepped over to his pack and pulled out a stained piece of cloth--Maybe a handkerchief?--then wrapped the ears in it and held them back out to me. This time I took them and tucked them into my back pocket, still unsure why he felt the need to mutilate a body and give me the spoils.


    Wait, spoils? Any self-respecting RPG would have some kind of adventurer guild where you can turn in things like this as "proof of subjugation". I think I get it now!


    I cried out my own "Ah!" and smiled at Yojoti, reaching to shake his hand. He took the hand and smiled back, before pointing at the pile of earth and miming a digging action, sharing a new word I took for "bury". I pointed to the shed and led him over, stepping inside.


    Once inside, the space felt quite cramped with two people filling it. Yojoti resumed his pensive stance, inspecting everything inside as he slowly rotated on the spot. Some things he glanced right past, and others he leaned close to stare at. The leaf blower received one such examination, including a look back at me with a questioning look, but I had to shrug and raise my hands in surrender.


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    How the hell would I try to communicate the use of a leaf blower even if I DID already know the language? Anyway, we came in here for shovels, right?


    I reached over to the flat- and spade-head shovels, offering both to Yojoti. He deliberated for a moment before choosing the spade, so I led the way back to the grave pile carrying the flat-headed shovel. We looked at each other and nodded, before setting to work.


    -


    It''s amazing how much easier it is to fill a hole than dig one. Add another pair of hands to the equation, and it took less than half the time of digging! I even learned some words like "shovel", "dirt", and "grave" as we worked. That being said, it''s about midday now, and I''m starving. I don''t suppose Yojoti has more food to share?


    Yojoti was leaning against the handle at the end of his shovel, mopping his face with another cloth that looked like the one he had wrapped the gnoll''s ears in, but much cleaner.


    "Yojoti? Midday, eat?" I asked in what must have sounded infantile speech to him. He nodded and held up a finger indicating that I should wait. He stretched out his back, then cast his gaze around the nearby grass until he spotted what he was looking for--which to me seemed to be one of the sporadically-growing yellow flowers. He knelt next to it and dug for a moment, before pulling the whole plant up, roots and all. And quite the roots they were!


    Huh, that looks a lot like a potato! Sheesh, there was food all around me yesterday and I didn''t even know it. Well, I suppose it''s a good thing I didn''t, or I wouldn''t have met Yojoti. And cyclically, I wouldn''t have known they were edible unless I had first met Yojoti. Things work out, I guess?


    Yojoti held his prize up and I learned the word for the root, which I equated with "potato" in my mind. He then pointed at three other specimens, then me, and reached downward with his hand, curled his fingers in the air, then turned it over and lifted it up, speaking another new word. Ah, that must be "harvest" or something like that. I''ll add it to the list.


    I nodded, repeated the word, and set to work pulling up the other three potato plants. Meanwhile, Yojoti had begun using his spade to dig up and clear out grass in front of the shed. When he saw that I was done digging up the tubers, he pointed at my shovel and swept his hand from the direction of the shed over to the mound of earth now covering the gnoll''s body.


    Uh, does he mean he wants to clear all of this? Why? Well, not like I can ask for clarification, I''d better just get to it.


    Bringing my bruised and blistered hands back to the handle of the shovel, I used the flat edge of the shovel to scrape in a straight line from the corner of the shed out to a point level with the grave, then across to directly in front of the opposite corner, and back in toward the shed.


    There, now I have a clear perimeter to work with. Makes me feel better.


    I continued grunting, digging, and scraping, along with Yojoti, until we had approximately a ten by ten square cleared in front of the shed. With this round of labor finally finished, Yojoti retrieved some tinder and flint from his pack, as well as a handful of the excised grass. Ah, he wanted space to make a fire. But why so damn much? If it''s just for a small cook fire, a circle a yard across should have been fine, right?


    Yojoti fiddled with the fire starting equipment for a minute, and soon had a flame sufficient to begin dropping bits of grass onto. Wait a minute, we don''t have any wood. How are we supposed to have a proper fire?


    No sooner had I wondered, than the grass caught and flared up to where Yojoti''s face had been a few seconds prior. And so it continued as Yojoti added another small handful of grass. Once it was clear the fire was self-sustaining, he detached from his pack a folding grill rack and small pot, about a quart size.


    "Trevor, water?" He called out, so I grabbed the jug I had left next to the then-empty grave, which still had about half of its contents, and handed it to him.


    He smiled and voiced his thanks, taking the plastic jug. Wait, I don''t know how to say "thank you" yet, was that it?


    I caught Yojoti''s eye and repeated what he had just said, in a questioning tone. He pondered for a second and then set the water jug down near me. He then repeated his request for the water, which I handed to him again, and repeated the word. Aha! So it WAS "thank you"!


    I nodded vigorously and blurted "Yojoti! Bread, jerky, sleep, fire, walk, bury, thank you! Thank you thank you!"


    My companion seemed a little taken aback at my effusive thanks, but smiled and responded with what I had to assume was an equivalent to "You''re welcome" while pouring the water into the pot. I repeated it to him and and he nodded, gesturing to one side and saying "thank you," then moving his hand to his other side and finishing with "you''re welcome". I nodded my understanding and punctuated it with a "Yes! Thank you!"


    While the water heated up, we lightly rinsed the potatoes and cut off any stringy roots, seated on upturned buckets, with a third one positioned in the middle to hold the cleaned potatoes. Yojoti demonstrated cutting a potato into quarters, so I emulated his example.


    Wait! More vocab opportunities!


    I cut the potato in halves showed them to him, and said "half". He responded with his language''s word for the same. I then cut both halves again, and showed them to him, to which he responded with "quarter", probably. I dropped the pieces into the bucket, cut a different potato in half, and then pantomimed putting the two halves back together. After a second, Yojoti got my meaning with an "Ah!" and then the word for "whole.


    Man this is kind of exhausting. I need to think of some kind of system to streamline requesting new words...ugh, not on an empty stomach, though. Is the water boiling yet?


    The last of the potatoes quartered, Yojoti dropped about two potatoes worth into the pot, as well as a handful of jerky that he had cut up, finishing with a sprinkling of herbs from a tin. With the stew prepped, we waited for the water to come to a boil in amiable silence. I spaced out while gazing into the fire at the grass being consumed and--Wait a minute, it''s hardly being consumed at all! What the heck is going on here? Ugh, I don''t have the words to try to ask this, but I''m so curious. I''ll at least try.


    "Yojoti, grass fire fire fire fire?" I repeated the word to try to indicate that the fire was burning for a long time. He stared at me as if I were an idiot.


    I tried again, "Um, grass fire, night morning?" Thinking that bringing in time-related words might help.


    Yojoti put on his "thinking face," propping his hand on his chin, trying to figure out what the hell I meant. I don''t blame you, my guy. Even to myself, I sound like a moron.


    Yojoti thought and thought, until I figured his puzzler must be sore. Finally his expression changed to more of a "hmm" than "what the hell?" then looked up at me.


    He pointed at the fire while speaking the same, then placed his hands close together, drawing them apart to the full length of his arms, and said another word.


    That''s gotta be "long," right? Long fire?


    "Grass fire long?" I tried, and he clapped his hands together and pointed at me. He tore off one of the stalks of grass from the pile next to him, then held the damaged end up and squeezed his fingers along the length until a liquid came out, beading at the end.


    Pointing at the liquid, Yojoti said "Watch,¡± and brought the drop into the flames. Bringing it back out, it was burning brighter than a candle.


    It just keeps burning! Sheesh, that¡¯s some serious energy storage. No wonder Yojoti doesn¡¯t carry wood for a fire in this tree-less area¨Che doesn¡¯t need it! And the reason the grass itself isn¡¯t burning is because this sap or oil is seeping out and burning first. Is this some kind of magic? Or just an evolved trait of this grass, to produce this kind of oil? Add this to the list of things to investigate once I can talk properly.


    Yojoti dropped the stalk into the fire after seeing the understanding in my eyes, and turned back to the pot, which was now at a gentle boil. Plucking my own stalk, I squeezed out the liquid and gave it a sniff. It didn¡¯t smell like much. I wonder if it¡¯s safe to taste? It¡¯s organic, obviously, but there are lots of poisonous plants out there.


    ¡°Yojoti,¡± I called. Once I had his attention, I pointed to the drop while asking ¡°Eat?¡±


    Yojoti shrugged and used a word I wasn¡¯t familiar with. He corrected himself with ¡°Yes,¡± and I filed the other word away as ¡°sure¡± or ¡°be my guest¡±.


    Touching the drop to my tongue, nothing too bad happened. I spread it around a little inside my mouth and experienced a very light tang, almost fruity. Okay, so basically just vegetable oil? I wonder if this is maybe used for lamp fuel anywhere? It seems to burn pretty cleanly. If it isn¡¯t, it should be. I can¡¯t imagine it would be very difficult to press a bunch of this grass at once and collect the oil. It doesn¡¯t even seem to need to be refined, maybe just filtered and homogenized. Another thought for once we reach civilization, I suppose.


    While I mused, apparently the first batch of potatoes had finished cooking. Yojoti unhooked a shallow tin bowl from his pack, forked the boiled potatoes into it, and handed it to me before dropping the remaining potato chunks into the pot.


    I blew on the serving for a few moments, then picked a cube up and munched down. It tasted¡­just like a potato.


    I guess I can¡¯t expect plants to taste too different here. Physics and organics seem to work pretty much the same as in my world, with the possible exception of that grass oil.


    ¡°Yojoti, potatoes mmmmm. Thank you,¡± I complimented the cook while rubbing my belly.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± he replied with a smile.


    I finished eating my portion while the rest of the stew cooked, softening both the potatoes and the meat; I didn¡¯t want to monopolize the one piece of eating hardware we had between us.


    Wait a minute¡­wasn¡¯t my old Boy Scout mess kit somewhere in the shed? I¡¯ll look for it after Yojoti is done eating. I¡¯d like to try to take stock of everything in the shed, together. There¡¯s probably stuff that would be useful for survival that I passed over in my hurry to reach the fire.


    I zoned out as Yojoti started his meal, my eyes following the outline of the new clearing in front of the shed. I still don¡¯t understand why on Earth¨Cwell, I guess why on whatever this planet¡¯s name is¨Cwe had to go to the effort of clearing so much space for a tiny fire in the middle.


    Almost in answer to my question, the most unlikely sequence of events occurred. Some grass in the fire finally ran out of oil and shifted as it burned away, tossing an ember into the small pile of unburnt grass Yojoti had sitting nearby for fuel.


    *FWOOSH*


    Yojoti jumped at the sudden firestorm as the ember ignited the fuel pile, and fell off of his bucket seat. Thankfully, he had managed to keep his bowl upright, so his meal was saved.


    Holy crap! If that ember had landed in the dense grass around here¡­we would be literal toast. Alright, note to self: Keep a WIDE buffer between any fire and this grass. Geez.


    Laughing at his predicament, Yojoti managed to right himself and make it to his feet. He slurped down the last few bits of stew from the bowl, then handed the spoon and pot to me. I finished the other helping of stew, then  shoveled some dirt over the fire to make sure it was all the way out, lest we have any further accidents.


    Leaving the cookware out to cool, Yojoti reattached his bowl to his pack, then looked meaningfully between the shed and myself. I nodded and led the way to the door.

 Chapter 11

    As we squeezed into the warm, confined space, I did my best to give Yojoti plenty of room.


    It really is too small in here for two people. I¡¯ll fold down the work table for the time being.


    I tossed the handful of items on the table over to a not-quite-full shelf, then folded the legs up under the work surface, before lowering the whole thing against the wall of the shed on its hinges.


    There! Now we actually have room to look around. Now where is that mess kit that might be in here?


    Casting a glance around at the open surfaces I could see, the aluminum relic of my scouting days was nowhere to be found.


    Makes sense that it wouldn¡¯t be out where I can see it, I mostly use this space for yard tools. If it¡¯s anywhere, it¡¯s up on the loft, probably in one of those totes.


    About a foot overhead, extending half the length of the shed from the back wall, was a loft holding a few lengths of different types of rolled fencing, some longer lumber, a few twenty-gallon totes, and other things I didn¡¯t get to very often. Pulling the ladder off its hook on the wall, I leaned it against the edge of the loft and stepped up onto it in a crouch.


    Yeah, not laying out here anywhere. What¡¯s in this first tote? Agh, geez, I should have done this outside. That¡¯s a lot of dust off that lid. But hey! That¡¯s where those fire handling gloves went! Picture hanging wire, twine, a few tubes of caulking, and where did this yoga mat come from?¡­eh, no mess kit. But man, some of this stuff could be really useful. I¡¯ll hand it down to Yojoti.


    I called out to Yojoti, stifling a cough. He looked up from his inspection of a sprinkler head¨Cthe kind that goes ¡°ts ts ts ts ts ts ts chchchchchcchchchch¡±. I pointed at the tote and then to him, and he nodded. He lifted his arms to receive the plastic bin, and if he had any qualms or wonder about the plastic, he didn¡¯t seem to show it. As he began his inspection of its contents, I turned back to the second tote.


    Alright, what¡¯s behind door number two? Aha, the mess kit! On top of¡­what the hell? I had one of these? No way. I always wanted one, but we got out of Scouts before I could talk mom into getting one for me.


    My puzzlement all over my face, I lifted the object of consternation out of the tote; It was an external aluminum frame hiking backpack. Out in the more direct light coming in from the shed door, semi-rigid rectangles on the back surface reflected my face back at me.


    Freaking solar panels? No way this is from when I was a Scout twenty years ago. Where the hell did it come from? I¡¯ll look at it more out in the sun. For now let¡¯s get this tote down to Yojoti to see if there¡¯s anything else useful in it.


    I placed the backpack back into the tote and handed it down to Yojoti, then climbed down the ladder and retrieved the backpack, carrying it outside to sit on one of the buckets by the lightly smoking fire.


    Opening every zipper and hook-and-loop section, I found a tiny first aid kit, one of those gold foil emergency blankets, a hand-crank flashlight, a flint-and-steel fire starting kit, a folding shovel and pick tool, iodine tablets, a heavy vinyl poncho, a collapsible pot and folding grill rack to go with it, quart-size freezer bags, and a length of silicone tubing with something attached to one end.


    This is all amazing and super timely, but what¡¯s this tube? Oh! It¡¯s one of those ¡°bite to drink¡± things for the hydration packs. Does this thing have a water bladder? Holy shit it does!


    ¡°How in the actual FUCK did this thing get into that tote?¡± I surprised myself and Yojoti with my exclamation of incredulity. He stepped through the door in a cloud of dust motes, but I  raised my hands to let him know nothing bad had happened, then dropped everything on the ground. I covered my face with my hands and tried to think through the possibilities.


    Unless someone else was using our shed for storage, the only people who had access to it were Patricia and myself. And she hardly ever went out there! In fact, I can¡¯t remember if she EVER did. We lived in that house for a couple of years before she¨Cbefore she died¨Cand if she ever DID go into the shed, it was once or twice at most. But I know for a fact I never bought anything like this. Did she? When would she have? And why?


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I have to admit I jumped a little when Yojoti interrupted my frantic analysis with a tap on the shoulder. Turning to face him, he had his ¡°not sure what this means¡± face on, and held what turned out to be an envelope out to me.


    An envelope with my name on it.


    In Patricia¡¯s handwriting.


    In a daze I reached into my pocket for my knife, flipped it open, and slid the blade under the flap to cut it open along the top crease. Inside was a folded card. A birthday card. It showed a mountain scene with a lone figure standing on a peak. Inside it said ¡°Hoping your next year is full of adventure!¡± Below that, in her neat script, Patricia had written ¡°Happy birthday my love! This is for that ¡®bucket list¡¯ item of ours to hike the Appalachian Trail. I can¡¯t wait to experience this adventure with you! Love, always, Patricia¡±


    My vision swam and blurred, and I pressed my hands to my eyes, careful to preserve the cardstock in my hand. Tears fell, but I had grieved enough already that I wasn¡¯t incapacitated by sobs. I let myself cry and shudder for a few minutes, thanking my lucky stars for my wife and her unknowingly life-saving gift.


    This must have been for my 31st birthday. We had talked about doing that hike a few times over the years, but I didn¡¯t realize she was this serious about doing it sooner than later. I¡¯m sorry, sweetheart, that we were never able to. But I¡¯m so thankful for this, because it is going to make things so much easier.


    Drying my eyes on my sleeves, I opened them to find Yojoti had returned to inspecting the contents of the shed, kneeling on the floor and dropping some items into one tote, and tossing others to the floor.


    Make yourself at home, I guess. Though he can probably tell better than I can what¡¯ll be useful out here and what won¡¯t. But I need to try to explain things to him. Though getting the words may be a little awkward. Here goes nothing.


    I spoke Yojoti¡¯s name and he smiled up at me before levering himself up. Once he was vertical, I asked him to ¡°watch¡±.


    Alright, I guess genders would be helpful here. I put my hands on top of my head and mimed hair coming down the sides. Then, with a little embarrassment, I used my hands to make the shape of breasts over my chest.


    Yojoti nodded right away and shared a word with me, for ¡°woman.¡±


    Next, I pointed at him, then myself, and said ¡°Woman, no¡±. I got his ¡°puzzled¡± expression once again.


    I guess that could be taken as ¡°we¡¯re not women,¡± or ¡°we don¡¯t have women¡±. Fine.


    I made the breast gesture again, saying ¡°woman,¡± then with even more embarrassment, pointed a finger outward from my groin and looked at Yojoti with raised eyebrows.


    ¡°Ah! Yes, ¡®man¡¯!¡± Followed by a few more words and a laugh.


    I then drew the card out of my pocket and imitated writing on it. Yojoti responded with a new word, and I repeated it as ¡°write¡±.


    Alright, these next few words could be pretty difficult.


    Sweeping my arms around the shed, making circles over the contents, I then brought my hands in toward my chest and said ¡°Trevor¡±, then pointed toward Yojoti¡¯s pack and said ¡°Yojoti¡±.


    Yojoti didn¡¯t respond immediately, insead reaching for his belt knife and touching the handle to his chest, spoke a word. Then he pointed at my gnoll knife and then at me, and spoke a new word.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I said, pointing at Yojoti¡¯s knife and saying ¡°Yours,¡± followed by pointing at my own knife and saying ¡°Mine¡±.


    He nodded back, and I launched into my next charade. I glanced around for an item of no consequence in case my meaning was misunderstood, and landed on a roll of plumber¡¯s tape. I held it in both of my hands, and made a big show of handing it over to Yojoti, raising my eyebrows at him.


    ¡°Yes, Trevor ¡®give¡¯, Yojoti ¡®take¡¯,¡± he explained as he caught my meaning, and I came away with two new words.


    Next, I made a cup shape with one hand, then gestured like I was putting my finger into the cup. Yojoti pointed at my hands and spoke, and I figured that was ¡°inside¡±.


    Lastly, I put both my hands up, palms facing toward me, and ducked my face behind them. I had to repeat the action a couple of times before Yojoti said ¡°Ah!¡± and shared the word for ¡°hide¡±.


    Alright, I think that should be everything I need to communicate this. Here goes.


    ¡°My woman dead, two long,¡± I said, pointing behind myself. Yojoti assumed his ¡°pensive¡± stance with his hand on his chin and nodded as I continued.


    ¡°My woman no dead, give pack. Hide.¡± I pointed to the tote the pack had come out of as I haltingly tried to explain the surprise gift from Patricia.


    Yojoti nodded and then clapped a hand on my shoulder in what seemed to be empathy. I nodded back at him, and then stood awkwardly, wondering how to proceed.


    Yojoti answered the question for me by settling back down next to the totes and continuing to sort through the shed¡¯s contents.

 Chapter 12

    A short while later, Yojoti had one tote about half full of what I assumed would be useful out in the field. He carried it and the other, empty tote out into the sunshine and set them on the ground next to his bucket seat. I followed suit to join him on mine.


    The first thing Yojoti pulled out was a pair of boots I had briefly glimpsed beneath the pack, but hadn¡¯t had time to really think about. Yojoti caught my attention and mimed writing on his hand, then pointed inside the boots. That must have been where he found the card. She seems to have thought of most everything. Too bad the rest of any kind of camping or cold weather gear was stored in the garage! It makes sense for her to have put this surprise in the shed, away from all that.


    I nodded my understanding to Yojoti and said ¡°Thank you.¡± We then spent about thirty minutes going through the contents of the tote. For about half of the items, he could just hold it up and tell me his word for it, which I would repeat. This category included wood, tarp, stake, blanket, and wire. After identifying each item, he placed it in the other tote.


    For the other half, he held it out to me and raised an eyebrow. I could demonstrate the use of a screw and screwdriver, pruning shears, pad locks, and some other tools. He even held up the sprinkler, and I was able to use the word ¡°water¡± and mime to communicate how it sprayed. Several items in this category didn¡¯t have words in Yojoti¡¯s language. For the rest of the tote¡¯s contents, I was at a loss for how to explain.


    I can barely understand pneumatic tools myself! No way I could communicate how they work to Yojoti. And even if I could, there¡¯s no way we could use them out here. It¡¯s just as well, we can¡¯t carry all of this anyway.


    Eventually we gave up on the endeavor, and set to packing the things that would actually be useful into my pack. I remembered from Boy Scouts to pack heavy, less-used items against my back, softer things at the bottom, and the most-used things on the top and outside.


    The pack turned out not to be as full as it could be, since I didn¡¯t have any clothing besides what I was wearing. I would have to take care of that once we reached a town. Speaking of town¡­


    I caught Yojoti¡¯s attention and bent down to draw a row of houses in the dirt.


    ¡°House, house, house, house?¡± I inquired.


    It took him a minute, but the drawing seemed to do the trick, and he pointed at me and responded with the word for ¡°town,¡± pointing toward the forest to the North, as well as the Mountains to the West.


    I followed up with ¡°Town long walk?¡±


    Yojoti shrugged and said ¡°Three ______,¡± Introducing a new word.


    I repeated it with a questioning tone, so Yojoti held up a hand and said ¡°morning¡±, then looped the other hand around to it and said ¡°morning¡± again, followed by the new word.


    ¡°Ah! Three ¡®days¡¯ walk town?¡± I asked.


    Yojoti nodded, but then said ¡°Wait,¡± followed by a sentence where I recognized ¡°walk,¡± ¡°two,¡± and ¡°meat¡±, accompanied by miming use of a bow.


    Uh, that was a lot, my guy. Let¡¯s see¡­


    Before I could respond, Yojoti snapped his fingers and said ¡°Ah,¡± then started demonstrating several new words. I learned ¡°hunt,¡± ¡°rabbit,¡± ¡°skin,¡± and a few other words confirming my initial assessment that Yojoti was a hunter out here. It seemed that he was only at the beginning of his current hunting trip, so he wouldn¡¯t be able to lead me directly to the town; he needed to bring furs with him.


    I grabbed Yojoti¡¯s attention and repeated my approximation of one of the words I hadn¡¯t known from his sentence, the one following ¡°two¡±. He nodded and said ¡°[new word], twenty-eight days¡±.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Oh! So that word is about the same as ¡°month¡±.


    I nodded my understanding and wondered whether I could possibly make it there myself without getting lost. Probably not. It¡¯s hard to miss the forest, but unless the town is on this side of the forest rather than inside or on the other side, I¡¯d never make it out of there. And even if I did make it there, I don¡¯t speak the language. And something tells me most people won¡¯t be as kind as Yojoti, to work with me and teach me. I wonder if it would be too much to ask to travel and hunt with him?


    As I opened my mouth to voice the question, Yojoti precluded it by saying ¡°watch¡±.


    Yojoti pointed to each of us, then brought his hands together in a deliberate fashion until they touched. Once they made contact, he pressed them together and spoke a new word.


    Is that maybe ¡°together¡±? Out loud, I asked ¡°Yojoti, Trevor, hunt ¡®together¡¯?¡±.


    Yojoti clapped his hands and smiled at me, saying ¡°Yes, yes!¡± My eyes started to tear up as I repeated his enthusiastic response, followed by ¡°Thank you!¡±


    He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder again, gave a firm squeeze and a shake, then let go to point away from me and say ¡°__ dig __ ____ potatoes. ____ ____ evening meal. ____ sleep long, hunt __ ___ morning¡±.


    Though I didn¡¯t know every word he used, I nodded my assent and went in search of the yellow flowers out among the grass while Yojoti took off toward the shed.


    -


    The potatoes grew well among the grass, but they were sparsely distributed, so it took about half an hour to locate and dig up ten plants. I figured it wouldn¡¯t hurt to eat some extra before we took off, and maybe have a few to pack with us. Though considering they were everywhere out here, it may not have been necessary.


    Meanwhile, Yojoti had cleared the floor of the shed of the tools and detritus that I had never bothered to pick up back home, and unrolled both of our sleeping bags inside.


    Would you look at that! I can¡¯t remember the last time I saw the entire floor in here. It¡¯ll be good to sleep inside a real shelter. Though I can¡¯t imagine it¡¯ll be much more comfortable, even if I add the yoga mat underneath me. At least being off the ground will keep us warmer. I miss my memory foam mattress already!


    I set to rinsing and cutting the potatoes, retrieving one of the bucket¡¯s lids from the shed to use as a platter, while Yojoti set the water to boil using both of our pots, and cut some jerky into each. The amiable silence of meal preparation was broken only by cricket chirps, bird calls, and the crackle of the fire.


    With two pots, cooking took half the time, and soon we were blowing on stew while watching the sun sink behind the shed.


    It¡¯ll be an early night, and probably an early start. I wonder what and how Yojoti hunts out here? I¡¯m guessing mostly small game like rabbits or groundhogs; I can¡¯t imagine larger predators would have much success out in the open like this. I guess I¡¯ll find out in about twelve hours, eh?


    Once we had the meal in our bellies, Yojoti and I cleaned up and went through our packs once more before going to bed, with light still in the sky. I made sure to lock the door from the inside, dropping a screwdriver through the latch.


    Normally I¡¯d have trouble getting to sleep this early, but I¡¯m honestly worn out after the last two days. Opening the door to a different world, killing a freaking gnoll, earning a bunch of blisters digging a grave, walking miles in the dark, starting to learn a new language, walking some more miles, digging potatoes, crying over Patricia¡­


    Before I noticed it, I was out, and it felt like just a few minutes later that Yojoti shook me awake, silhouetted in the predawn light coming through the now open door. For breakfast, we ate the remainder of the potatoes I had collected the previous day¨Capparently two grown men who walked half a day and then did manual labor could eat a fair amount. We could always dig up some more later. Shifting my gaze from the brightening Eastern sky, I considered the shed one last time.


    I know I said leaving it open made more sense before, but now that I¡¯m actually leaving, the idea of this place staying unsecured irks me. I¡¯ll go ahead and move the latch back to the outside so I can lock it, even if there¡¯s no guarantee I¡¯ll ever be back here. Though I suppose we might come through near here on our way back to town? I guess I¡¯ll find out eventually.


    Pulling a screwdriver from my belt, I set to removing screws, before flipping the latch around and reattaching it. I detached one of the padlocks from a strap on my pack, and slapped it onto the latch. This setup wouldn¡¯t stop a really determined intruder, but at the very least rain wouldn¡¯t blow right into the door.


    Satisfied that I was ready to go, I hefted my pack onto my shoulders with the accompanying clanking of the cooking accoutrement attached to the outside. Yojoti did the same, and we set off toward the new day¡¯s light.

 Chapter 13

    It turns out walking directly into the rising sun really sucks. That first day¡­ sheesh, was that really two months ago? At least this will be the last time we have to do this¨Cfor this trip. We should make it back to the shed well before sundown, and then tomorrow we¡¯ll start the three-day trek Northward to¡­agh, I can¡¯t remember the name of the town in the forest.


    Looking to my left under the brim of a coarse-woven grass hat, Yojoti was walking in parallel about fifty feet away, dutifully scanning for game. ¡°Oy! Yojoti!¡± I called, ¡°The town to the North, what is the name again, please?¡±


    ¡°Trevor, how many times do I have to tell you to be quiet while we¡¯re moving?¡± Yojoti admonished me, ¡°There isn¡¯t much for us to hunt out here, and I don¡¯t want to scare away what there is!¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, Yojoti. I will watch,¡± I sheepishly replied.


    At least my language skills have improved. I suppose I could say I¡¯m ¡°fluent¡±, at least at the level of a ten-year-old. I¡¯ll have to pick up slang, euphemisms, idioms, and more vocabulary as I go, but at least now we can part ways without worrying about how I¡¯ll be able to make my way. I guess it¡¯s true that ¡°immersion¡± is the best way to learn a language. But damn if I didn¡¯t feel like an idiot for at least a month.


    As I mused, my eyes swept the horizon for movement atypical of the rhythmic waves of wind across the grass appropriately named ¡°Everburn¡±. I had learned from Yojoti that the most common game here in the grasslands were rabbits, and the only way to tell where they were was to keep an eye out for patches of grass that were either more still than the rest, or moving in a different direction than the rest. It was for these signs that we watched during our march.


    Yojoti was obviously better at this practice than I was, having nearly four decades of experience. His father had been a hunter, and had passed the necessary skills on to Yojoti as early as he could remember. That¡¯s why I only had the faintest tickling that a patch of grass was off, about twenty yards in front and to the left, when I noticed Yojoti¡¯s silent crouch in my peripheral vision. I followed suit, as he had instructed time and again, while he readied his bow.


    You don¡¯t get much of a skin off of a rabbit, but Yojoti says they¡¯re in good demand anyway as lining for light coats and gloves¨Cespecially for women.


    While I watched, Yojoti strung his bow, nocked a blunt-tipped arrow, and drew. He must have had a better visual angle than I did, because after just a moment he loosed the whistling projectile to thump into the patch of grass.


    The rabbit, dead before it knew it was in danger, never made a sound. Yojoti stepped over to the arrow and dropped it into his quiver, before skinning and cleaning the animal. He tossed the pelt onto the makeshift sled I was pulling behind me, and tied the carcass to the side using some of the Everburn grass. Being the ¡°beast of burden¡± for the eighty-odd pelts of rabbits, coyotes, foxes, and a singular deer, was my way of repaying Yojoti for his kindness to me. He had taught me his language, as well as hunting and foraging skills¨Cespecially how to locate water! It turned out that the plains were shot through with streams coming down from the mountains to the West, and there was one about half a mile South of my shed. He had also provided preserved food when we had unsuccessful hunting days, on top of dealing with my suburbanite ineptitude at most tasks that took any measure of skill¨Cmore than likely slowing down his hunting progress. He had even woven the hat I was wearing as protection from the sun.


    And boy, am I grateful. I never had many friends in my world, but spending weeks in the wilderness with someone will definitely build a bond, whether you want it to or not. I wonder whether I¡¯ll see him again once we part ways in¡­that town to the North.


    ¡°Great shot, Yojoti!¡± I congratulated him. ¡°We will eat rabbit and potato stew tonight! Now will you answer my question from before?¡±


    ¡°The town is called Holsworthy, for the fourth time,¡± he chided, ¡°Settled initially by, you guessed it, the Holsworths. It¡¯s a frontier mining town; there¡¯s not much there outside the mine and its shipping, smithy, furrier, stable, and of course the tavern! We¡¯ll definitely need to make a visit there,¡± he continued with a wink.


    ¡°There¡¯s also a mercantile, which brings in goods from closer to the capital, but I don¡¯t have much business with them. You, on the other hand, will probably want to get acquainted if you want to do anything besides hunt or farm out here at the edge of nowhere,¡° Yojoti finished with a wry smile, sweeping his arm across the grasslands.


    I scratched my beard¨Cwhich was now half as long as Yojoti¡¯s¨Cas I considered his words. I definitely didn¡¯t relish the idea of being a subsistence farmer barely able to survive through the winter, and I doubted I would ever have the senses and reflexes necessary in order to hunt for a living.


    I come from a place where my greatest hardship was when the store was out of my favorite kind of chips! Well, aside from my wife dying. But seriously, losing modern conveniences is the worst part about being here! Disposable razors, shaving cream, toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, laundry detergent, washing machines, honestly anything to do with hygiene, I miss. I wonder whether that mercantile would carry things like that? If so, where would they have come from?


    We walked mostly silently, for a few more hours, spotting three more rabbits, but only taking one. As the sun reached its zenith and I was pushing ¡°hangry¡±, I spotted an angular shape on the horizon: the shed.


    We had returned to the shed once before during the trip, as we had crisscrossed the plains in search of game. The first night sleeping on the shed floor, before we had left on the hunt, had been awful. But going back and doing it again after a month of sleeping on the ground instead had been absolutely heavenly! Then, we had picked through the shed¡¯s contents again, bringing with us anything we had realized the need for during the first month. Now it was time to rest once more before heading Northward.


    As we approached the Westward side of the shed, about fifty yards out, Yojoti crouched once more and I followed suit. I hadn¡¯t noticed any movement or lack thereof in the grass, likely because I had been staring straight at the shed in relief, but I trusted Yojoti¡¯s senses more than mine. I scanned the grass as Yojoti once again strung his bow and nocked an arrow; this time, though, I noticed a sharp broadhead tip on it rather than the much more blunt type used for rabbits.


    Is there a coyote or a fox over there? How could I have missed that? They definitely stick up over the grass. Maybe he caught a shadow through the crawlspace? I wonder whether it¡¯s noticed us yet. I doubt it, since it¡¯s not streaking away¨C


    While I was trying to decide which canid might have been in the vicinity, an entirely different dog-like creature rounded the shed, immediately locking onto us and crouching into a hunting stance, claws at the ready and a snarl in its muzzle.


    Oh shit! A gnoll! Is this their territory or something? Is there some kind of settlement out here that we haven¡¯t seen? Why the hell have there been TWO of them by the shed? What are we gonna do? I had the element of surprise last time, but I definitely can¡¯t do anything toe-to-toe against that thing! It¡¯s hu¨C


    My frantic thoughts were interrupted by a twang and whistling sound as Yojoti loosed the arrow. It arced in its gentle parabola, and struck the gnoll in the face. The arrow was heavy and sharp, but not heavy or sharp enough to make it through a skull. It did, however, glance over the monster¡¯s eye, causing it to howl and clutch its hands to the wound, falling to its knees. Yojoti wasted no time nocking and drawing another arrow, now marching closer to the incapacitated beast. Just as it turned toward us and dropped the hand from its non-injured eye, Yojoti loosed again, at half the distance. The arrow pierced the gnoll¡¯s throat and passed through for about half its length, the sight causing a nervous giggle to burst from me before it fell to its back, gurgling.


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    Holy crap, he didn¡¯t break a sweat! He¡¯s done this before, I guess? I¡¯ll have to ask him about it. Wait, it¡¯s still breathing! Barely.


    I pulled the machete from my tool belt as we approached the nearly-dead monster; Yojoti had also drawn his belt knife, but didn¡¯t appear very concerned. The gnoll twitched one arm toward us as pink, frothy blood welled from the wound in its throat, but it was obviously in no condition to do us any harm.


    Yojoti crouched next to the monster, and drove his knife between two ribs into the heart without hesitation. The gnoll jumped once more, then lay still as the last of its life drained around the hilt of Yojoti¡¯s blade.


    Yojoti withdrew the knife and wiped it on the gnoll¡¯s loincloth before putting it away.


    Now that the danger had passed, my brain kicked back into gear with what I considered to be a very urgent question: ¡°How in the ¡®hell¡¯ did you know the gnoll was there? I did not see anything!¡± The word ¡°hell¡± spoken in English, because I didn¡¯t know the equivalent in Ozryn, the language spoken here.


    In answer, Yojoti said ¡°Share status¡± and beckoned me over.


    I remember how funny it was when I learned the word for ¡°share¡±, and connected it to the phrase Yojoti had originally taught me for the ¡°Status¡± window. No wonder he couldn¡¯t see my English one, I didn¡¯t say ¡°share¡± in front of it.


    Pointing at the ¡°Skills¡± section, ¡°See that ¡®Perception¡¯ skill there?¡± He asked.


    I nodded the affirmative. Thankfully, since Ozryn was a phonetic language, I didn¡¯t have much trouble picking out the word I had never seen before by matching it to the spoken sounds. Yojoti had taught me the ¡°alphabet¡± of characters over our time together, so I could more or less read, unless it was a word I had never heard before.


    ¡°It allows me to sense game or danger within a radius, when I use it,¡± He continued. ¡°I don¡¯t need it most of the time because my natural senses are plenty, but I did as we approached the shed for exactly this kind of reason. We couldn¡¯t see anything on the other side of it, and anything or anyone within eyesight of it is definitely going to come to investigate.¡±


    ¡°I understand, thank you,¡± I responded.


    Yojoti nodded and said, ¡°Now, because of that skill, I can tell you that we¡¯re safe to start clearing the Everburn from in front of the shed again,¡± He clapped my shoulder ¡°That is, after you remove our ______. The Department of Highway Safety office in Holsworthy will have a little reward for us taking down two gnolls.¡±


    ¡°Uh, Yojoti, what was that word?¡± I asked, ¡°What I¡¯m supposed to be removing? It is not ¡®ear¡¯ like you did to the first one, is it?¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± He exclaimed with his trademark point at me, ¡°New word: ¡®trophy¡¯. Proof that you killed it. Like the antlers on a deer.¡±


    ¡°I understand, ¡®trophy¡¯,¡± I acknowledged with a nod again. ¡°So there¡¯s an organization that rewards you for killing monsters?¡±


    ¡°There sure is! As well as assigning¨Cnew word: Contract. An agreement for work to be done¨Cassigning contracts to professionals who do things like this for a living.¡±


    Ah, so like an adventurer¡¯s guild, but government-sponsored. I guess that¡¯s where we have to take these gnoll ears.


    ¡°We are far from any highway,¡± I began, ¡°why would they want monster parts from out here?¡±


    Yojoti thought for a moment before responding, ¡°The way I understand it, the original purpose of the Department was to sponsor killing monsters along roads, to protect trade routes. It eventually grew to accepting any monster subjugation, since fewer monsters in general makes roads safer by extension.¡±


    Grimacing down at the fairly gruesome form, I asked ¡°So there are people that do things like this all the time? They must have tougher stomachs than I do.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± Yojoti responded jovially. ¡°Just get it done so we can drag the body off for the scavengers.¡±


    I squatted down and sliced the ears off as quickly as I could. As I stood, I asked Yojoti about the treatment of the body.


    ¡°You mean we won¡¯t bury it like the other one?¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± he answered. ¡°It¡¯s not typical to do anything with monster carcasses beyond collecting the useful parts, unless they¡¯re in the way of something. I just helped you bury the other one because you already had the grave dug and I couldn¡¯t very well tell you there had been no point. Especially since you couldn¡¯t talk yet!¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± I responded once more, and bent to grab one of the gnoll¡¯s ankles.


    ¡°Wait just a minute,¡± Yojoti interrupted me, ¡°let¡¯s get these furs off the sled and we can use it to drag the body away.¡±


    I said ¡°I understand,¡± yet again, then dragged the sled around to the front of the shed where I unlocked the padlock, and we piled the furs and other contents of the sled just inside. When we came back around the rear, the gnoll was right where we had left it. The two of us awkwardly slid the body onto the sled, which was much too small, leaving its limbs dragging the ground. Still, the saplings bent into runners offered less friction against the ground than the body on its own, so we made it about a hundred yards away without too much effort.


    When we dumped the body over sideways, it pushed the arrow farther through the neck. Yojoti bent down to inspect the tip, and gestured me over.


    ¡°Trevor, how can you tell whether an arrow is fit to use again?¡± He wanted to know.


    ¡°Uh, right,¡± I began, ¡°There are three things to look for. Whether the head is still firmly attached, whether the shaft has cracked or broken, and¡­Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Whether there¡¯s any missing fletching,¡± Yojoti finished for me, yanking the arrow the rest of the way through and out, then turning the shaft to point the intact, bloody feathers toward me


    ¡°Yes, that¡± I agreed, then added, ¡°I think I will add my own criteria about how dirty it is, as well. That would not be ¡®sanitary¡¯ to use on game we will eat.¡±


    Yojoti raised his eyebrows and asked, ¡°What won¡¯t it be?¡±


    ¡°Safely clean, remember?¡± I answered his question about the English word I had used, since there was no equivalent in Ozryn.


    Yojoti chuckled and shook his head before answering, ¡°Oh yeah, your ¡®tiny monsters¡¯ that live on soiled things. Well, we¡¯re not boiling a perfectly good arrow shaft to appease your sensitive stomach.¡±


    I shrugged and bent to grab the tow rope of the sled before we turned back toward the shed. It¡¯s up to him whether he wants to do anything to protect himself. Yojoti isn¡¯t stupid, just ignorant. I, for one, will continue at least rinsing my hands as often as I can. Obviously we don¡¯t have any soap. Wonder if I could make some? I never actually looked into it, but the basic ingredients are lye and fat, right? And I think I can make lye just out of ashes and water. I¡¯ll have to think more about that later, after we get this haul dropped off.


    Once we made it back to the shed, we retrieved the shovels from inside and set to work clearing the ¡°yard¡± area of Everburn grass again. This is tough, but definitely much better than setting fire to the entire region, taking us with it.


    For midday meal, we roasted the rabbits we had taken that morning, along with boiling some potatoes. I wish we had some salt! Yojoti¡¯s dried herbs help a bunch, but it¡¯s still a little lacking compared to what I¡¯m used to. Regardless, I should be grateful to have any food at all. At the same time, I¡¯ve definitely lost those love handles I was worried about. It seems tromping across the wilderness for weeks really trims you down, who would have thought?


    After the meal, I boiled more water and dropped as much of my mess kit into it as would fit, to kill the ¡°tiny monsters.¡± I suppose Yojoti had taken more stock in the existence of germs than I thought, because he dunked his in as well, once mine were out.


    The rest of the afternoon was more or less spent napping in the shade, between stints of pretending to mend gear. Once the sun sank below the horizon I spent a while scrolling through pictures of my previous life, behind some new ones of this world.


    I¡¯m so curious about why Yojoti isn¡¯t freaked out by this thing; there¡¯s no way he could have seen anything like it before. Or indeed most of the things that came along with me in the shed. The waterproof nylon canvas of the pack, solar panels, plastic water jugs, going on ad nauseum! Although I suppose he could just have chalked it up to ¡°magic, I don¡¯t have to understand it¡±. Regardless, I¡¯m grateful I haven¡¯t had to do without it. Besides never seeing Patricia¡¯s face again, I would have missed things like notes, alarms, and a calculator, even without the network capabilities. Thank you, sweetheart. You¡¯ve made things much more bearable for me, here.

 Chapter 14

    Worried about oversleeping in the safe, dark confines of the shed, I had set an alarm to wake us up around sunrise¨Cbut I needn¡¯t have; Yojoti¡¯s hunter instincts had him sitting up and nudging me awake minutes before the ringtone began blaring.


    I¡¯ve never understood how ¡°primitive¡± people could possibly wake up before dawn without something like an alarm. And I still don¡¯t. I would have continued sawing logs for at least another hour, if left to my own devices. I¡¯ll chalk that up to magic. I sure don¡¯t think it¡¯s natural to wake up without the sun shining in your face after all of the marching we do.


    Rousing ourselves out of the pitch dark of the shed into the pre-dawn glow, we relieved ourselves on opposite sides of the shed before wordlessly packing up our bedrolls and parking ourselves on upturned buckets next to the smoldering fire.


    Yojoti broke the silence with a single syllable, ¡°Tea?¡±


    I nodded and poured a few cups of water into his pot, and piled some of the Everburn onto the embers. It went up like¨Cwell, like Everburn¨Cand before long the water was at a simmer. Yojoti removed the pot from the heat and then pinched some leaves from an oilcloth pouch into it. Once the water had darkened, he poured half into the collapsible steel cup I held out to him, then sipped his brew directly from the pot.


    I was never a huge fan of tea back home, but this is wonderfully warm and smooth. There isn¡¯t any flavoring, but I imagine there are a good number of vanillins in these leaves. I hope it¡¯s not very expensive¨Cwe¡¯ve shared a cup or two just about every other day out here¨Cthat would just be one more thing I¡¯d be indebted to him for. Not that I mind accepting the hospitality of a friend, I just don¡¯t want to be a burden either. Oh well, I¡¯ll probably have opportunities to return these favors in the future.


    Crimson rays broke over the horizon, scattering the last of my drowsiness. I poured the dregs out of the cup, snapped it shut, and closed it into my mess kit before clipping it to my pack, then stood up to begin packing up in earnest. Yojoti poured the rest of the tea over the fire, setting it to steam, before shoveling dirt on top of that, then moved off to complete his own packing.


    ¡°Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning,¡± right? High barometric pressure that way means we¡¯ve got low pressure coming from the West, and probably a storm. It¡¯ll be good for the rainwater collection, I suppose. We¡¯re heading North, so it¡¯ll probably run right across us before the day is out. We¡¯ll just have to find the least soggy patch to lay out on, even if we might be able to get the Everburn to light for cooking. Now¡¯s the time to be grateful for the sheltered sleep last night, I guess. And a waterproof tarp.


    The sled was reloaded amidst my thoughts: four water jugs at the bottom, along with the spade shovel and other tools, topped with the furs. I withdrew the poncho from my pack and threw it over the top, to keep the worst of the rain off of the furs. Ideally, I¡¯d wear the poncho and use the tarp for the sled, but if it continues raining into the night, I would need to swap them. That would be so much hassle. I¡¯ll use the tarp as a poncho once the rain starts.


    The sun had risen two fingers over the horizon by the time we had finished packing, and I closed the padlock on the shed door. Yojoti stood, waiting, as I checked the knots tying the sled to the frame of my pack, before hefting it onto my back and stepped toward him. We spread out into our observation formation as we headed North, toward¡­Ah, Holsworthy. Gotta remember that name.


    -


    Hours later, the shed was completely out of sight over the horizon. The storm clouds, however, took up more and more of my peripheral vision. Yojoti had drifted closer in the last mile, and I raised a questioning eyebrow at him.


    ¡°Any game is likely huddled in its burrow ahead of the storm, cozy and dry. We won¡¯t need to keep as much of a lookout. Which is just as well, since I wanted to talk to you.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What about?¡± I inquired.


    His eyes turned back ahead of us. ¡°What you¡¯ll do after we arrive. I¡¯ll be able to spend a day or two resupplying, but then I¡¯ll have to head right back out for another trip.¡± He glanced over at me, ¡°Have you had any further ideas?¡±


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    ¡°To be honest, no,¡± I responded with a defeated slump of my shoulders. ¡°This situation is so far beyond anything I know, I have no clue what the next step could be. I don¡¯t even know how¨C¡± I cast around for the word ¡°employment¡± in Ozryn, but came up empty. Looking over at Yojoti, I asked ¡°What is the word for doing work for someone else?¡±


    ¡°A contract?¡± He asked, but I shook my head. He had just taught me that word the previous day.


    ¡°No, the state of being in a contract with the person you work for,¡± I explained further.


    ¡°Ah!¡± He exclaimed, one finger coming up to aim at me, ¡°You mean ¡®employed¡¯!¡±


    ¡°Yes, employed,¡± I repeated back. ¡°I don¡¯t know how being employed works here. Are people paid by the hour? Or a fixed amount in a month?¡± I tapped Yojoti¡¯s shoulder with the back of my hand, ¡°By the way, what would be the word for that? Receiving a fixed amount of pay no matter how much time you spent working?¡±


    Yojoto responded ¡°Beats me!¡± with a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve never worked for anyone else, so that kind of ______ is foreign territory to me.¡±


    ¡°That kind of what?¡± I asked about the unfamiliar word.


    ¡°Oh, it means things that are only slightly different, in small details,¡± came his answer.


    So it¡¯s like ¡°nuance¡± from French, got it.


    I filed the new word away. ¡°Is there anyone you would recommend I speak to in town to learn about this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t, but the innkeeper would.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    We walked in silence for a few more minutes, keeping a weather eye to the West, where the thunderhead had gone anvil-shaped at the top, and covered more than half of the sky. Lightning could be seen against the tower of white, as well as within curtains of rain which ranged from ¡°ash¡± to ¡°gunmetal¡± pouring onto the plains from below.


    As the first, faint rumblings made their way to us, Yojoti opened a new conversational route. ¡°Depending on our pace, we should reach town sometime in the mid afternoon. Our first stop will be the Furrier; that shouldn¡¯t take more than an hour. Tenal makes a good bargain and knows me well enough to only have to count once.¡± Yojoti chuckled and continued, ¡°Then we¡¯ll collect our reward at Highway Safety¨Cyou don¡¯t mind splitting that, do you?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± I replied earnestly, ¡°I would be willing to give you all of it, for all the help you¡¯ve given me!¡±


    Yojoti waved away the offer then reached over to grasp my shoulder and continued, ¡°After that, we head to the tavern! How do you feel about sharing a room?¡±


    ¡°That depends, how many beds are in a room?¡± I replied, raising my eyebrows.


    ¡°Haha! A double room can be arranged,¡± he quipped, ¡°though I¡¯ve never had an audience before.¡±


    ¡°Ah okay! Okay! Two rooms it is, then!¡± I emphatically headed off any further conversation in that direction.


    Eesh, I¡¯ve never liked the idea of watching, either. I haven¡¯t had sex since Patricia died, though. And the vasectomy earlier that year means I can¡¯t sire any children. That just leaves the possibility of contracting some alternate-world STI, which definitely doesn¡¯t sound fun. But maybe there¡¯s magic to deal with that? Even if there is, I don¡¯t know. Logically, there would be no betrayal, because Patricia isn¡¯t alive to BE betrayed. I still feel icky about it, regardless. Well, not a decision I have to make right now, anyway.


    Yojoti continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had been said, ¡°The next day, we¡¯ll stop by the smith to check over our gear and replace some of these arrows.¡±


    ¡°Yojoti,¡± I interjected, ¡°I would like to visit the mercantile before spending everything away at the tavern. My clothes¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh yes! You definitely need a change of clothes, my friend; another pair of trousers and a good shirt should do nicely.¡±


    I nodded and added, ¡°I would also like to see what supplies are available for camping, just in case I cannot find employment and have to come back out with you.¡±


    Yojoti¡¯s sidelong glance spoke volumes. ¡°Here¡¯s hoping it won¡¯t come to that. I think every rabbit, fox, and coyote in the grasslands knows your footfalls by now, haha!¡±


    The laugh didn¡¯t really lessen the sting, but I guess it¡¯s just as well. I seriously don¡¯t want to continue this lifestyle forever, even if I were to become better at it. For one thing, look at that storm! It¡¯ll hit any minute, and we¡¯ll probably be drenched for the rest of the trip. Now is probably a good time to dig that tarp out.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I caught Yojoti¡¯s attention and pointed to the West. He nodded and donned his oilcloth cloak from his pack as I pulled the crinkling blue sheet over my head. Not long after, the first drops began to patter on the polyester.

 Chapter 15

    The word ¡°slog¡± very accurately encapsulated our travels for the next several hours. True to Yojoti¡¯s prediction, we didn¡¯t see another living thing the rest of the day. No game meant nothing fresh to eat, so we finished off the last of Yojoti¡¯s dry rations as we walked.


    Those animals are smarter than we are, honestly. What kind of being sees that much rain coming and decides to stay out in it anyway? The kind that has ¡°societies¡± and ¡°money¡± and things besides ¡°survival¡± to worry about, that¡¯s what. And even once the rain stops, the ground will be soggy and even more uneven, and sleeping will be muddy and cold and just UGH.


    I voiced my disgust out loud, drawing Yojoti¡¯s eye. He didn¡¯t look like the weather was bothering him very much at all. Though he was probably much more used to it than I was.


    ¡°Hey Yojoti, how much did your tent cost?¡± I called out to him.


    ¡°Well,¡± he paused, thinking, ¡°the frame is just wood I cut myself from the forest. The ________ cost about five Asi, and rope is dirt cheap so I don¡¯t count that.¡±


    Another unfamiliar word. ¡°What cost five Asi?¡±


    ¡°Oh, the cloth itself. It¡¯s infused with a mixture of oils to make it waterproof, called ¡®oilcloth¡¯,¡± he explained, and I repeated the word back to him. My pronunciation rarely needed correcting anymore.


    ¡°Not quite as waterproof as hide, but getting a single piece big enough to sleep under costs at least double. And the ones sewn from multiple hides leak worse than the oilcloth!¡± He finished the explanation.


    ¡°What if I wanted a tent with a collapsible frame? The kind with rods that slot together end-to-end and anchor into the corners to make a dome.¡±


    I knew my Ozryn still wasn¡¯t perfect, but Yojoti didn¡¯t have to stare at me like I was speaking Greek. Or English, for that matter. ¡°I said, one with its own¨C¡±


    ¡°I know what you said,¡± Yojoti interrupted me, ¡°but I¡¯ve never heard of anything like that. Is that kind of thing common where you come from?¡±


    ¡°Well yes.¡± We had mostly skirted the question of where my shed, with its contents of tools and materials Yojoti had never imagined, and myself had originated. ¡°You can find tents like that from single-person size to large enough to hold ten or more people.¡±


    ¡°Ten people! That can¡¯t protect from the rain very well.¡± Yojoti seemed to dismiss the idea as ludicrous.


    ¡°I have never slept in one, so I cannot say for sure,¡± I shrugged, ¡°but if the tent was made of the same material as my tarp, it would be just as waterproof. So you are saying there is no such thing as a collapsible tent frame in Ozryn?¡±


    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve ever heard of, and I¡¯ve spent time in most parts of the country at one point or another.¡± Yojoti confirmed for me.


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    ¡°Well, that is too bad for me, then.¡± I trailed off into thought.


    Well. Well, well, well. Is this something I could use to lift myself out of a subsistence lifestyle? The idea of a tent isn¡¯t new, but one with a light frame that doesn¡¯t require ropes and stakes to stay upright seems to be novel enough. But what would I use for the poles? There¡¯s no such thing as fiberglass here, I¡¯m fairly certain. Thin lengths of wood could work, but how would you get them to slot into each other? I suppose a smith could make iron tubes for that, but that would increase both the weight and the cost. Does bamboo exist here? Honestly that¡¯s the best, cheapest, most easily available thing I can think of. I wouldn¡¯t have a good way to make the elastic bands that keep them attached to each other, but that¡¯s mostly for convenience. Once the sections are together and attached at both ends, they¡¯re not going anywhere, and it¡¯s easy enough to tie them to one another. Yeah, that could work. Now I have to refer to Pythagoras to get some dimensions¡­


    I continued making plans and improvements as we slogged, occasionally muttering to myself in English and pulling out my phone to perform calculations and make notes. Yojoti, who didn¡¯t usually have anyone to talk to anyway, seemed content with the silence.


    -


    The rain had stopped an hour prior, but darkness came early due to the clouds. Yojoti had a rule to never attempt to navigate in the dark, so we stopped to make camp. By that time, I had figured out that for a single person tent measuring two meters long, one meter wide, and one meter at the peak of the dome, I would need poles about three and a half meters long, give or take a few inches.


    I blame my time watching science documentaries for making me mix imperial and metric units in my head. I couldn¡¯t say why, but it would feel weird to say ¡°give or take a few centimeters¡±.


    I dropped my pack and began clearing space for a fire. The first time we had been rained on, Yojoti had instructed me to clear space for a fire like normal. I had been a little peeved, but damned if he wasn¡¯t able to get it lit! Everburn was pretty miraculous, by Earth standards; It was much more likely to light after all that rain than any wood we could have found. It wasn¡¯t exactly guaranteed to light, but Yojoti had managed to get a fire going all but once when we had been doused by Spring rains, previously.


    With enough of an area of open mud to prevent accidental wildfires, Yojoti tore apart some of the grass we had dug up, and rubbed it vigorously between his hands. He ended up with what could easily have passed for a clump of hemp fiber, which he placed on top of a small pile of damp but unmolested Everburn before turning his flint to it. Half a dozen tries later, I was worried it wouldn¡¯t catch. But Yojoti kept working until a flame leapt up from the ball of fibers, which in turn dried out the grass below it before it caught as well, starting a proper campfire.


    As I walked around pulling potatoes from the slurp of the mud, I glanced Northward toward the dark green edge of the forest. I was very, very noticeably closer than it had been at the beginning of the day, likely less than five miles away; I imagined that I could make out individual trees if there were more light..


    As I plopped down on the tarp to peel and cut the potatoes, Yojoti already had both pots filled with water and set to boil. We would miss the addition of jerky to the stew, but herbs and potatoes wouldn¡¯t be too bad for the couple of days it would take to reach the frontier town where Yojoti sold his pelts.


    ¡°We should reach the forest well before midday tomorrow,¡± said Yojoti. ¡°But just because we¡¯re out of the grasslands doesn¡¯t mean the trip is over¨Cwe still have to keep an eye out for any last game we can find before we arrive in Holsworthy. A deer or two would make this trip much more worthwhile!¡± He finished with a smile.


    ¡°I will do my best not to hinder you, my friend,¡± I responded with a rueful smile.


    Yojoti clapped me on the shoulder and turned to set up his tent, and I put my head back down to preparing the potatoes. The meal passed without too much conversation after the exhausting day, our heads beginning to nod almost as soon as the starches hit our bellies. I tossed a handful of Everburn onto the fire before nodding to Yojoti and crawling into my sleeping bag and folding the tarp over top against any overnight showers.

 Chapter 16

    We awoke to the plains covered in a blanket of mist, glowing gold in the rising sun. It made me shade my eyes and squint no matter which direction I looked.


    Well, no more rain, but all of that moisture evaporating will make for a muggy Summer day. Though I¡¯ll take humidity over cold any day of the week, and twice on Sunday!


    After cold potatoes and warm tea while rubbing the sleep from our eyes, packing up took less than half the time of the previous day. Good thing, too, since Yojoti wanted to make up for lost time.


    ¡°I had hoped to make it to the tree line before stopping yesterday,¡± he began, voice hoarse speaking for the first time that day, ¡°but we still made good time through the rain. I want to push harder today, make the tree line before midday. Sound good?¡±


    ¡°Of course, you are the uh¡­employer?¡± The idiom fell flat in translation. I wasn¡¯t yet sure whether Ozryn had a word equivalent to ¡°boss¡±.


    Yojoti chuckled and gave me his trademark shoulder clap, ¡°My friend, I am no one¡¯s employer. Come on, let¡¯s get a move on.¡±


    I followed along as Yojoti strode toward the trees. ¡°Yojoti, will the game come out of their burrows now that the rain is over?¡±


    ¡°They sure will!¡± Yojoti confirmed. ¡°Their warm, dry burrows are still underground and made of soil; they¡¯ll be soggy today now that the rain has soaked in.¡±


    ¡°I understand, I will keep my voice down,¡± I responded.


    ¡°Good man, you¡¯re learning!¡± He smiled and angled away to set our observation distance.


    That¡¯s just as well, my brain was apparently working overtime while I slept. I have more ideas for things to ¡°invent¡± to make money!


    I opened the notes app on my phone to record the ideas along with the one for the tent.The first of which is a portable snare that you should be able to use anywhere, whether there¡¯s a convenient tree nearby or not, even in grasslands like this! It¡¯ll use the sectioned poles from the tent for tension. Multitasking!


    I scratched the wiry growth on my face and pondered the second big idea. Disposable razors are a no-go, but what about a single-blade safety razor? I¡¯ll have to find out how thin a sheet of steel can be made, how to punch out blanks, and some way to sharpen a bunch of blades quickly. But making the head and handle should be a relatively simple job of die-casting. That is, after I figure out an angle for the blade that won¡¯t carve my face up.


    A weight dropped into  my stomach as I typed the final idea. This could easily get me in trouble, if the wrong people get the wrong idea about it: electroplating. I could make a rudimentary battery out of copper, zinc, and citrus juice, if I can find any, and use that to create a weak current. It wouldn¡¯t be fast, but it would give me an even, thin, and shiny layer of gold on another metal. I would NOT want to get in trouble for counterfeiting, so the main application would be jewelry, right? But by the same token, I don¡¯t want to try to pass gold-plated items off as solid, or have someone else pick up the idea to do so. It would be relatively easy to keep the concept of electricity a trade secret, I think, making it difficult for anyone to copy it. Right?


    I sighed and put the phone away, and turned my focus to scanning for game on my side of the formation.


    -


    We did indeed reach the treeline before midday, where Yojoti took over pulling the sled across the more uneven forest floor. He also decided that we should walk single file rather than spread out, to keep me from getting lost. I readily agreed¨Cwandering through the forest in a world with monsters wasn¡¯t something I was eager to try. Yojoti was much better than I was at spotting game anyway, under any conditions.


    Up close, the forest was decidedly deciduous, its rich green canopy filtering the summer sun into a cool, dappled glow. Squirrels chattered, birds called, and the underbrush rustled with myriad ground-dwellers. It was impossible to see more than twenty feet in any direction, barred by trunks even if it wasn¡¯t very dark. The difference from the immense, open plains with the horizon cutting a line between green and blue at the limits of the world¡¯s curve, was so great that I couldn¡¯t help but feel a bit claustrophobic. I had grown up in the Southwest among rocky deserts and scrubby mountains, where the only ¡°trees¡± had spikes or Bible names, and living in Kansas hadn¡¯t exposed me to forests any more than my upbringing had. Still, the viridescent light felt full of life, on top of protecting from even more sunburn, so it didn¡¯t take long to get used to the relatively tight quarters.


    Exactly as predicted, it took another day and a half to traverse the forest to Holsworthy, even with Yojoti burdened by the sled full of furs¨Cwhich had even grown a little after entering the forest. Yojoti had set snares overnight, and managed to add two squirrels, a raccoon, and one last rabbit to the pile of pelts. We didn¡¯t see any deer before reaching town, though; they were likely scared off by my bumbling.


    We reached a more defined trail before midday, and Yojoti decided to push through rather than stop to eat. A couple of hours later, stepping around one last tree, I could tell right away that we had arrived. A swath of stumps marked the very edge of Ozryn civilization, leaving a clear view across about a hundred yards to the orderly wooden structures of the town.


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    Orderly, eh? In all the stories you read, small towns are laid out haphazardly wherever someone manages to clear enough land to build their house or business, turning everything into a convoluted maze. Respect to the city planner!


    The ¡°main road¡± didn¡¯t actually extend into the forest, but petered out from clear dirt some forty feet wide to a vague, foot- and hoof-beaten track pointing Southward by the time it reached the last row of buildings, devolving further into a wild trail by the time it reached the tree line we had just exited. Amidst the stumps were stakes and lines indicating where the road would continue on as Holsworthyand the Ozryn kingdom expanded.


    Across the band of felled trees, I could see people moving within and between the buildings, as well as various yard birds, goats, and dogs behind woven cane fences. The buildings were simple; logs cut from the neighboring clearing mortared together in trapezoidal shapes with wood-shingled roofs like helmets on top.  Most had laundry hung from lines between eaves and individual trees which seemed to have been left in place for the purpose. The colors were what you might expect to be typical of working people, primarily earthen tones: tans, creams, and browns, but broken by the occasional warm tones anywhere from light umber to dandelion.


    I guess warm-colored dyes aren¡¯t too expensive in this area, if most people have clothing like that. I don¡¯t see any real farms, just small gardens. I wonder where crops and cattle are raised? If I learned anything from teaching in the past, it¡¯s that if I wait, I¡¯ll probably learn the answers to most practical questions.


    As we passed the first row of buildings, we began receiving curious looks¨Cthough several people did throw a wave, seeming to recognize the hunter walking beside me.


    ¡°I suppose they know who you are, Yojoti,¡± I said, nudging him in the arm.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m something of a local celebrity,¡± he shrugged before continuing. ¡°My father was the first to explore and hunt on the Everburn plains, just after Holsworthy was founded.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I was taken a little aback at the revelation.


    ¡°That¡¯s right! Before that, no one dared go out there. With the threat of being caught in a firestorm because of a lightning strike, and the gnoll colony past the plains on the tundra, it¡¯s not a very welcoming place,¡± He puffed out his chest a little as he finished, ¡°As it stands, I¡¯m still the only person who will go much further South than this.¡±


    I said, ¡°I understand! So that means that you have no competition for game out there. Very smart!¡±


    ¡°You hit the rabbit in the eye, my friend. The grasslands are my own personal honey pot.¡± He smiled and then gestured ahead, ¡°Welcome to Holsworthy proper!¡±


    The road continued straight North, and a bridge about seventy feet long spanned a river which had steep, stone-reinforced banks. Standing guard at the Southern end of the bridge was an impressive estate with a four-story main building, the wooden upper floors resting on a first floor of mortared stone that looked almost glossy. In contrast to the homes we had already passed, the walls were completely vertical, and covered in what looked like plaster and lye. The two outer wings had simple wooden shutters in any window openings, versus the glass windows in the wing between them.


    What seemed like half the population of Holsworthy came and went from the Eastern and Western arms of the u-shaped structure, but access to the central wing, resting parallel to the river, was restricted by a wall of the same stone with a large iron gate at a tangent to the circular drive connecting the three sections¨Cwhich was paved with more of the same stone.


    I turned to Yojoti to ask a question, but he was already speaking. ¡°That¡¯s the lord¡¯s mansion and civic center all rolled into one. That¡¯s where we¡¯ll find the Department of Highway Safety to turn in our gnoll trophies.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± I nodded before asking my second question, ¡°What is the stone that the first floor is made of?¡±


    Yojoti had to introduce a new word to answer, ¡°That stone is called ¡®flint¡¯, it¡¯s the primary export of Holsworthy, and the primary reason it exists.¡± When I nodded, he draped an arm across my shoulders and continued the tour of gestures. ¡°To the West are the shipping docks, and across the road the fisheries go the other way along the river.¡±


    ¡°The round building in front of the civic center is the Divine Hall.¡± Yojoti indicated a wooden-walled, circular building two stories tall with a roof made of bronze leaves forming a bulbous dome coming to a point holding an eight-pointed star. It honestly looks a little like the spinning vents you see on rooftops on Earth, just bigger and more orange.


    Yojoti pointed across the road to the second-tallest building in view, at three stories. Like the civic center, it also had a flint first floor¨Cthough no additional wings. ¡°That¡¯s The Knapping Gnoll, the inn I told you about. A much finer establishment than the name implies, haha!¡±


    Rolling my eyes at the pun, I shrugged his arm off and said, ¡°I sincerely hope I do not find a gnoll in my bedroom, either sleeping or making arrowheads.¡±


    Chuckling, Yojoti gestured to a handsome building with a stone facade. ¡°Last¨Cbut certainly not least as far as you¡¯re concerned¨Cis the Mercantile, right next to the Divine Hall. Much to their satisfaction!¡±


    ¡°The¡­ what is the word for the people who work in the Divine Hall?¡± I asked my companion.


    ¡°Those are called ¡®Priests¡¯,¡± he supplied for me.


    ¡°Priests, thank you. The priests actually like having a large business right next to them?¡±


    Yojoti raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t they? It¡¯s much better to have a lot of people going past every day than being next to, say, a tanner.¡±


    ¡°True, but they are not worried about so many people being ¡®of the world¡¯ right in front of them, for lack of a better term?¡±


    ¡°My friend, you have some strange notions.¡± He shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ll have to direct that question to the priests themselves, though. The only thing approaching a complaint I¡¯ve heard from a priest is disappointment over cases of fraud or usury being tried in the courthouse.¡±


    So the church isn¡¯t puritanical? Freaking righteous! This world might not be too bad, after all.


    ¡°Right!¡± Yojoti broke into a brisk walk. ¡°Let¡¯s get the furs taken care of, then we¡¯ll work our way back toward the main road through the civic center to turn in the gnoll ears, and then head to the mercantile to get you acquainted. After that, the tavern!¡±

 Chapter 17

    Yojoti led us between the civic center and Divine Hall, along the row of buildings adjacent to the river. They were unremarkable wooden structures, each with some kind of platform where carts were loaded and unloaded, attached to a set of stairs leading to a long dock extending Westward along the river. We turned into one whose signboard had an image of a wolf pelt stretched on a drying rack. The furrier, presumably.


    A brass bell jingled as Yojoti pushed the door open, and from behind shelves tastefully piled with gloves, hats, coats, and unsewn pelts came a call of ¡°I¡¯ll be right¨Cah has it been two months already?¡±


    Upon catching sight of Yojoti, the proprietor¨Cpresumably¨Cstopped himself short to charge over and clasp hands with my guide.


    The man was a few inches taller than me and had reddish-blonde hair coiffed into a short pompadour, the sides trimmed to match length with his sideburns, which joined with an impeccably well-kept beard the length of my forearm. His shirt was cream-colored, with green-and-gold suspenders attached to a pair of trousers in the same forest shade. A gold chain was pinned to the suspenders, the other end disappearing into his breast pocket where a watch was most likely attached.


    ¡°Tenal!¡± Yojoti crowed in apparent delight. ¡°The time flies when you¡¯re making money hand over fist, doesn¡¯t it? Ahahah!¡±


    The furrier stepped back, rubbing his nose and glancing aside. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say things are all that great. In fact, we seem to have reached a bit of a plateau¨Cbut that¡¯s neither here nor there. Who is your friend?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Yojoti twitched, suddenly reminded of my presence. ¡°Tenal, meet Trevor. I found him in the middle of the grasslands in a very sorry state¨Cnot much to his name besides the strange clothing he wears. He didn¡¯t even know how to speak Ozryn!¡±


    I reached my hand toward Tenal and he grasped it firmly. Mustering up my best Ozryn pronunciation, I said ¡°I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Tenal.¡±


    Tenal clapped his other hand over mine and gave it a shake. ¡°Any friend of Yojoti¡¯s is a friend of mine!¡± He released my hands and continued, ¡°It seems like you can speak well enough now, at least. Though I can¡¯t vouch for Yojoti as the best tutor, heh!¡±


    Yojoti gave a halfhearted smack to Tenal¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Hey now! I suppose I¡¯ll take these furs to somewhere a little less articulate, then.¡±


    The furrier raised his hands in defeat. ¡°Alright, alright, let¡¯s get these counted out,¡± He conceded, gesturing to the sled full of furs.


    I tried my hardest to remain interested in Tenal and Yojoti¡¯s negotiations, but I found myself tuning out the haggling and casting my gaze over the rest of the store. Here were the rabbit fur lined gloves Yojoti had mentioned, neatly arranged to show both the velvety interior as well as the tight stitching. Nearby were potlike hats made from fox and raccoon skins, their tails sticking out in a semblance of their original form. And on a rack were coats made from animals I couldn¡¯t identify, from white to black and shades in between. It all looked very warm, and very expensive.


    I was drawn back to the business at hand at the mention of my name.


    ¡°No!¡± Tenal exclaimed, ¡°He managed to take down a gnoll by himself, but then dug a grave for it? Hahaha! He really must not be from around here.¡±


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    Sheesh, my second act in this world was to embarrass myself. I¡¯d never killed anything bigger than a mouse before, let alone something so human-shaped, how was I supposed to know what to do with it? At least it looks like they¡¯re done with business.


    Tenal invited us toward the rear of the building to an office, where he took at a seat at a simple but well-made wooden desk. ¡°Sit, sit!¡± he said, gesturing to two chairs facing the desk. He turned around to a set of built in cabinets, unlocked one with a key hanging around his neck, and turned back with a pouch that clinked as he set it on the desk. He poured a handful out on the desk and began counting the copper and silver coins, pushing the gold ones aside. Each was about the size of a dime, back on Earth.


    Ah, so this is what the currency looks like! Yojoti said the coppers are Aso, silver are Asi, and the gold are Insi. I suppose our haul doesn¡¯t amount to a whole Insi. I wonder how much he usually brings in? I guess I should have been paying better attention to the negotiations, oops.


    ¡°Alright!¡± Tenal interjected as he leaned back from his counting. ¡°Fifty-two rabbit pelts at one Asi and fifty Aso each, eight coyote pelts at three Asi each, three fox pelts at five Asi each, two squirrels at one Asi each, one raccoon at two Asi and fifty Aso, and one deer pelt at five Asi and twenty Aso totals one Insi, twenty six Asi, and seventy Aso total.¡±


    Yojoti responded with ¡°Agreed!¡± and Tenal pulled a roll of what I presumed was parchment from a different cabinet behind his desk, then reached for a quill in an ink pot to write the totals on the sheet. From my angle, it appeared that this was a continual sheet of several transactions¨Clikely to save on requiring a new sheet per transaction. At the end of each entry were pairs of signatures, one of which was always identical¨Clikely Tenal¡¯s¨Cand they seemed to shimmer in the diffuse light through the open door.


    I wonder what makes it do that. Magic? Is this contract magic? Do I actually get to see magic performed? Sweet!


    It seems that I had guessed right, because Tenal turned around once more to retrieve a black quill and a smaller ink pot with a brass stopper from the same cabinet as the receipt scroll, and signed his name to the transaction. He then turned the scroll around and handed the quill to Yojoti, who signed his own name, and then offered it to me.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked in surprise. ¡°Oh, no, I am only here as a freeloader¨CI do not need to be part of the transaction!¡±


    ¡°Ha! Nonsense!¡± Yojoti scoffed. ¡°You helped bring in the product, so you¡¯re party here.¡±


    I hesitated a moment more before reaching for the quill. ¡°Well, if you insist.¡±


    I haltingly wrote the characters to spell my name, much larger and messier than the other two signatures, but I did it all the same.


    Tenal retrieved the quill, cleaned it, and stoppered the pot of presumably magic ink, setting them aside. He then waved a hand over the sheet and said ¡°Contract.¡± The signatures flashed red, and I felt heat on my fingers which had held the quill.


    Well, that was both more and less impressive than I had expected. Still, wow, actual magic! I don¡¯t intend to break any kind of contract, but I still hope the consequences here aren¡¯t too dire.


    I must have had a more astonished look on my face than I thought, because Tenal spoke up, ¡°Is this your first time experiencing magic?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I responded, ¡°I come from a place that does not have magic.¡±


    Tenal looked as if I¡¯d said that the sky was orange. ¡°A place that doesn¡¯t have magic? By the Divine, I can¡¯t even imagine it!¡±


    ¡°See?¡± Yojoti chimed in. ¡°I told you he was peculiar.¡±


    Tenal raised his hands in surrender, then placed them back on the desk. ¡°You did, indeed. Well, gentlemen, I suppose you¡¯d like to be off to some rest and relaxation, I won¡¯t keep you any longer. Just bring the pelts around to the platform to unload them on your way out.¡±


    We all stood, and Yojoti scooped the payment into a pouch, which he secured under his belt. We made our way back to the front of the building and shook hands once more before stepping out the door, the brass bell jangling merrily.

 Chapter 18

    Pulling the sled back Eastward was not any easier after unloading; the weight of our packs had replaced that of the pelts pulling around my waist


    ¡°Once we make it to the Tavern,¡± Yojoti broke the silence, ¡°I¡¯ll give you your share of the sale. How does forty _____ sound?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, forty what?¡± I asked, even though I was pretty sure what the new word was.


    ¡°Oh, uh, ¡®percent¡¯,¡± he responded. ¡°It¡¯s a part of the whole. You know, fifty percent would be half, twenty five percent would be a quarter, and so on.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°That¡¯s what I was afraid you said. Forty percent is far too much! I have been little more than a burden on your generosity since we met. I will not accept an Aso more than twenty five percent.¡±


    ¡°Bah, ¡®burden¡¯, he says,¡± Yojoti argued back. ¡°I would have plucked you off and tossed you aside if you were such a leech. No, you were a fine companion and I¡¯m a good enough man to reward that, even if things weren¡¯t any easier because of it. You¡¯ll take forty, and I¡¯ll hear no more about it,¡± He finished, folding his arms across his chest.


    Smacking his shoulder I shot back, ¡°You admit it, I was a burden! As such, I have to talk you down to thirty percent, at most.¡±


    Yojoti narrowed his eyes at me over his beard and said ¡°Thirty five, and that¡¯s that.¡±


    It would probably be best not to argue further. Besides, I have absolutely no coin to my name, so why am I fighting so hard against this? I guess it was my upbringing. Boomer grandparents taught me that it was shameful to accept charity. But if it¡¯s completely outside your control to need that charity, how is that shameful? I should just accept the gift and say ¡°thank you¡±.


    Which is just what I did. ¡°Thank you, Yojoti.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re welcome,¡± He answered, uncrossing his arms. ¡°It¡¯s not like I have much to spend it on besides drinks and company. Besides, neither of us will be much hurting for coin in a moment anyway.¡±


    We had arrived back at the Civic center, rounding the Western wing. Up close, four stories was pretty impressive. Every window was open to allow a breeze in the summer heat. A guard in a simple leather vest and chaps, his hand resting on a spear, stood to one side of the door.


    ¡°Just tie the sled to the hitching post,¡± Yojoti said. ¡°We won¡¯t be very long.¡±


    I did as he said and followed him to the door. Yojoti nodded at the guard, and I tipped my hat before following him inside.


    The Civic Center interior, though out of the sun, wasn¡¯t any cooler. A sign on a movable stand directed entrants to various departments: Tax Collector, Sheriff, Registrar, and Department of Highway Safety, to name a few. Behind the sign were various queues for the departments on the first floor, which included the DOHS. We joined the people already sweating in line, and I began to feel a little¡­anxious? Excited? The feeling was hard to name, but I knew it was because my mind still didn¡¯t quite believe that I was about to be rewarded for killing a monster¨Cstraight out of an anime.


    I must have been fidgeting, because Yojoti smacked my shoulder and chuckled. ¡°Nervous?¡±


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    ¡°A little.¡± I answered, shoving my hands in my pockets to still them. ¡°This is all new to me, you know.¡±


    ¡°This is no big deal,¡± Yojoti said. ¡°The clerk will hardly look at you! They¡¯ll just take the ears and hand you a form to sign, then the silver.¡±


    ¡°If you say so,¡± I responded as we stepped forward with the line.


    The person ahead of us finished their business and stepped away. ¡°Just watch, I¡¯ll show you how it¡¯s done,¡± said Yojoti as he stepped forward.


    The process was exactly as he described. He slid the severed Gnoll ears across the counter, and the very polite but disinterested clerk dropped them into a bin labeled ¡°Monster Trophies¡± behind him, then pulled a scroll from a shelf above the bin, turning back to Yojoti. He wrote a few things in the ledger before signing¨Cin regular ink¨Cand turned it around for Yojoti to do the same. While Yojoti was signing, he unlocked a drawer and pulled out a leather pouch of coin, and counted out fifty Asi to hand to Yojoti. Yojoti thanked the man, and it was my turn.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± said the clerk. ¡°How may I help you?¡±


    ¡°Uh, I uh,¡± I stammered, ¡°The same as him!¡± I managed, and pulled the Gnoll ears from my back pocket to place them on the counter.


    ¡°Name?¡± The clerk asked, picking up his quill.


    ¡°Trevor. Uh, Bluem, if you need the full name.¡±


    He glanced at me a moment before returning to the scroll. ¡°What type of monster, and where was it subjugated?¡±


    ¡°A Gnoll, outside my¡­house in the Everburn plains.¡±


    Another glance, and a small shrug that shouted ¡°eh, not my concern¡± before returning to the scroll. ¡°One Gnoll subjugated, the reward is fifty Asi. Please sign here.¡±


    As I bent over the scroll, the clerk again unlocked the drawer to count out the reward. ¡°Thank you for your service, have a nice day.¡±


    ¡°You as well!¡± I said a little enthusiastically while stuffing the coins into my pockets, earning one last curious glance before the person behind me was beckoned forward.


    As soon as we stepped outside, Yojoti broke into laughter loud enough to cause the guard to jump a little.


    ¡°Hahaha! It was like you were asking a girl to dance for the first time at Sowing time!¡± He mimed wiping a tear from his eye. ¡°I¡¯m glad I was around to see that.¡±


    I untied the sled from the hitching post and looped it around my waist again in red-eared silence. It had been a long time since anyone had poked fun at me like this, and it took a bit to come up with a retort.


    ¡°I suppose you¡¯ve watched a lot of girls be asked to dance, then?¡± I said as lightly as if I were commenting on the weather.


    ¡°Well yeah, it¡¯s always more fun to w¨Chey now!¡± He backhanded my shoulder as if I had insulted him or something.


    I gave him a mock offended look and groused, ¡°I have no idea what that was for! I was only making an observation.¡±


    Before heading on to the Smith, I stopped to take a real look at the lord¡¯s manor. All of its windows were closed and made of glass, in contrast to those on the civic and municipal arms of the complex. To my surprise, the fourth floor windows actually all opened onto small balconies with wrought iron railings, just large enough for two chairs with a small table between them. I hadn¡¯t been able to discern this much detail when Yojoti had first told me what the building was. Even more surprising was when I made eye contact with a dark haired woman wearing a blue summer dress sitting on one of them! She immediately and deliberately returned her gaze to the book she was holding.


    Huh, must be the lady of the manor. Or one of them, anyway. Don¡¯t nobles usually have several children? Although that¡¯s an assumption from Earth media; Ozryn may have completely different customs. Or fertility could be an issue. You never know, I suppose.


    But hot DAMN, even from four stories away I can tell she¡¯s gorgeous. Maybe I¡¯ll find some excuse to be around the Civic Center some more¡­


    I turned around to find Yojoti already halfway across the drive, so I jogged to catch up.

 Chapter 19

    ¡°Ah, it pains me to have to walk past the inn on the way to the smith.¡± Yojoti said as we were passing between the Civic Center and Divine Hall, reaching with dramatic but not insincere longing toward the Knapping Gnoll.


    ¡°Yojoti,¡± I began, my tone as light as I could make it, ¡°what is the word for an old man who drinks too much and pinches serving girls¡¯ bottoms?¡±


    ¡°That would be a¨Chey!¡± Yojoti gave me a light shove as he registered the insult. ¡°You can¡¯t call me a lecher yet¨CI¡¯m not nearly old enough! Hahaha!¡±


    ¡°That actually begs the question, how old are you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve passed thirty-seven summers. Soon to be thirty-eight.¡±


    ¡°So you do not count your age on the day of the year when you were born?¡± I inquired further.


    ¡°Some richer or noble types do,¡± Yojoti mused, ¡°but celebrating the day you were brought into the world isn¡¯t something most people can afford. Ten years is the common period to show gratitude that you¡¯ve survived that long.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I said.


    ¡°On that point, how old is Trevor?¡± Yojoti returned.


    ¡°I will be thirty four in about two months,¡± I answered, ¡°though a month being only twenty eight days throws me off, some. How long is a full year?¡±


    ¡°Well, there are thirteen moon cycles, the same as a month, so whatever that adds up to.¡± Yojoti chuckled and added, ¡°I can use numbers well enough for business, but they¡¯ve never been my best friends.¡±


    ¡°Let me check, I haven¡¯t had to multiply double digit numbers in my head for twenty years.¡± My calculator app said the total would be three hundred sixty four days.


    ¡°Huh,¡± I said, ¡°That is just a day shorter than a year where I come from, except on leap years. But I doubt you have anything like that.¡±


    ¡°Well, that depends on what a ¡®leap year¡¯ is, my friend.¡± Yojoti said.


    ¡°In my world, a year is three hundred sixty five and a quarter days long. So every fourth year, we add a day to the calendar to even it back out.¡± I answered.


    ¡°No, that doesn¡¯t exist here.¡± Said Yojoti. ¡°But, how do you figure that extra quarter of a day each year? Who came up with that?¡±


    ¡°No one really ¡®came up with it¡¯,¡± I said, attempting to remember what I could of my general science classes, ¡°it was just the amount of time it took for our¨C¡±


    I broke off, realizing that I didn¡¯t know the Ozryn word for ¡°planet¡±, or whether there even was one.


    ¡°Um,¡± I started again, ¡°this is kind of hard to explain. Is this world a¡­ball?¡±


    Yojoti stopped walking to look at me. ¡°A ball?¡±


    ¡°Ugh, you know¨Ca solid, round shape like an apple or a melon?¡± I tried to clarify.


    ¡°I think you might be trying to say ¡®sphere¡¯?¡± Yojoti said hesitantly.


    ¡°Sure, a sphere,¡± I agreed, ¡°So is the world here a sphere?¡±


    ¡°I honestly have no idea what you¡¯re talking about, my friend.¡± Putting on his smile and resuming his walk, Yojoti continued, ¡°I¡¯m not a scholar or a priest, so I don¡¯t know much about the way the world works. Questions like that aren¡¯t relevant to hunting or tracking, so I think it¡¯d be better to ask someone else.¡±


    ¡°Good point,¡± I said as I followed along. I can¡¯t assume anything in this world, such as a standard level of education. Or even if there is a standard, that it would be anything near the same as on Earth.


    The sun was approaching the tops of the Western trees, and we heard boisterous talk and laughter from the Knapping Gnoll as we passed. I caught Yojoti¡¯s eyes turning toward it wistfully a few times, but he soldiered on toward his responsibilities.


    The ring of the hammer with the smell of smoke and various chemicals identified the smithy long before I could make out the anvil on the sign board. We stepped up to a heavy wood table laden with a smattering of tools whose purpose I could only guess, interspersed with piles of horseshoes, nails, grain scythes, and belt knives. There was even a maille shirt on a simple t-shaped stand next to the table.


    The smith was absorbed in his work and didn¡¯t notice us. ¡°Oy!¡±, called Yojoti.


    He glanced over at us, stained cloth covering everything except his eyes, then put up a gloved finger in the¨Capparently¨Ccross-universal symbol for ¡°wait a minute¡±. A dozen or so more strikes with the hammer allowed him to reach a point where the glowing orange piece could be placed back onto the coals.


    ¡°Good ahftahnoon to yah.¡± The smith said, mopping his face with the kerchief that had been over his lower face.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    I was glad when Yojoti spoke up as leader of our expedition, as it were, since I could hardly understand the man. ¡°Good afternoon Asak. We won¡¯t take much of your time, we¡¯re only here about a handful of arrows and bowstrings, if you have any lying around.¡±


    ¡°Oh ah thaht ah do.¡± Asak responded in that same manner of speaking. ¡°How meeny do yah be needin¡¯?¡±


    Yojoti pondered for a moment, glancing at his pack and quiver on the sled, then said ¡°Let¡¯s go with a dozen blunt, half a dozen broadhead, and three bow strings.¡±


    ¡°Comin¡¯ raht up!¡± Asak said before walking to a series of cubbies on a wall to retrieve the arrows, and then into a drawer to pull out a piece of oiled cloth, from which he removed the bow strings.


    Returning to the table, he said ¡°Whaht do yah say to fahv Asi fah the broadheeds, ahnd two fah the bloont?¡±


    Yojoti winced a bit and said ¡°Aye, five for the broadheads is grand, but how about one Asi and twenty for the blunt? And what about the strings?¡±


    Asak slapped his thigh and grinned ¡°Yah know I cahn¡¯t help but trah to git the extree Asos, but thaht¡¯s a deal. Fah the strings, I cahn¡¯t go any lowah thahn two Asi each. Gaht mouths to feed, yah know.¡±


    Yojoti extended his hand and they shook, then he pulled his purse from his shirt and counted out the coin.


    ¡°Raht, Ah¡¯ll see yah next tahm mistah Yojoti!¡± Said the Smith, as we stepped away.


    ¡°Until next time!¡± Yojoti called back.


    Once Yojoti had tucked the arrows and strings into his quiver and pack on the sled, I couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore. ¡°What in the world was that?¡± I managed around some incredulous laughter.


    ¡°What, Asak?¡± asked Yojoti, as if there had been nothing odd about the man.


    ¡°Yes, Asak.¡± I replied flatly. ¡°The way he speaks, I could hardly understand him!¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s from up North, on the other side of the desert, near the sea.¡± Yojoti explained. ¡°They do sound a little funny, don¡¯t they? But you should get used to it before long¨Cyou speak with an odd accent, yourself.¡±


    I furrowed my eyebrows at him. ¡°I do?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you do,¡± he said, flashing a grin. ¡°Your consonants aren¡¯t very hard, and you speak a little forward in your mouth. But you¡¯ll get by! The only people who really care about ¡®perfect¡¯ language are scholars and overly proper nobles.¡±


    I raised a hand and dropped it in incredulous defeat. ¡°Well thank you. Now I will be even more conscious of my speech.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it!¡± Yojoti said. ¡°You handled yourself just fine with that clerk at the Civic Center, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    I just shrugged and kept walking, miming the sounds of the Ozryn language silently as we made our way back toward the center of town.


    -


    Yojjoti controlled himself better passing the inn a second time, but I definitely noticed the increase in pace crossing the road to the mercantile.


    When we were about halfway across, there came a loud chime from the bronze dome next door. About half the people in the area immediately stopped what they were doing, and raised their hands to the sky until the ringing could no longer be heard. Those who didn¡¯t raise their hands stood calmly while the faithful¨CI assumed¨Cperformed the ritual.


    ¡°Ah, is it that time already?¡± Yojoti exclaimed and glanced behind him at the sun, which was just touching the tops of the trees.


    Yojoti increased the pace again while I called from a little behind him, ¡°So that happens at the same time every day?¡±


    ¡°Yessir!¡± he said over his shoulder. ¡°It signals the beginning of the end of the day, when the sun touches the horizon. There¡¯ll be another chime when it¡¯s completely over the horizon. Oh, and it¡¯s a reminder for the faithful to give thanks for the day that has passed. It reminded me that we skipped midday, and it¡¯s almost time for supper. Unfortunately that means we won¡¯t be able to make introductions in the mercantile today, as they¡¯ll be looking to close up shop. We¡¯ll try it again tomorrow.¡°


    We had arrived outside the handsome wood building with glass windows showcasing blankets, sewing tools, utensils, canned goods, and other sundries. I tied the sled at the other end of a hitching post from a brown and white horse, and followed Yojoti inside.


    The interior looked exactly like every general store I had ever seen in a movie or video game. Shelves along the walls filled with things either too specialized or generalized to purchase from a farmer or local craftsman, and at the same time tables laden with sacks of flour, dried meats, woven baskets, and other things that could easily have been produced locally.


    ¡°Good afternoon!¡± called the clerk, squinting toward our silhouettes in front of the windows.


    ¡°Hi there.¡± Yojoti returned, quickly turning toward a section of shelving where I could see dried meat in various forms.


    I moved toward where I could see a handful of garments stacked on a table. Lifting a rust-colored piece, it turned out to be a long sleeved shirt which tied at the collar, which looked much too small for me. The next item in the stack was an obviously hand-knit forest green vest, followed by some brown trousers made of the same wool as the vest, but undyed beige. The shirt was a bust, but it looked like the vest and trousers might fit me.


    Turning around and holding the legwear against my waist, I asked Yojoti, ¡°What do you think?¡±


    His arms laden with dried meats, Yojoti turned to scrutinize me. ¡°I think we¡¯d better get you to an actual ______ for a proper set of clothes rather than some housewife¡¯s spare time handicraft leftovers.¡±


    ¡°Get me to a what?¡± I asked.


    Yojoti defined the new word: ¡°A ¡®tailor¡¯, someone who makes clothes for a living. I can¡¯t believe we haven¡¯t talked about this already!¡±


    ¡°We may have, and I forgot,¡± I said, shrugging.


    ¡°Well,¡± Yojoti said as he stepped to the counter and set the armload down, ¡°That will have to wait for tomorrow, just like introducing you to the owner of this place.¡±


    ¡°The owner?¡± the clerk chimed in. ¡°That¡¯s right, they¡¯ve gone for the day. They hardly ever stay past midday when I take over the counter.¡±


    The clerk counted up the total and Yojoti paid, without any haggling. It seems that¡¯s something our worlds have in common. At an actual store, prices just are what they are.


    We exited the store and hurried across the road, lifting our belongings out of the sled and stowing it next to the stable. The sundown chime sounded at the Divine Hall, but no one raised their hands like they had earlier.


    ¡°No praise at sundown?¡± I commented.


    ¡°Nah,¡± said Yojoti. ¡°Now it¡¯s just time to go rest. Which is what we¡¯re here for!¡±


    Yojoti opened the door to the inn.