Looking into my inventory, I have something like a thousand units of water. Liters perhaps? And about 337 units of all other things in total. Thinking on it though, no, it’s definitely not liters, or gallons, it might be decaliters or deca gallons. Or it could be stones, as in dozens of pounds of weight. Based on the massive volume of missing water from the pond, I feel like the units might be something even larger, like the gross of a unit of measurement. I think a gross is twelve squared, which should be one hundred forty four. I wasn’t really certain what would happen when I reached capacity, but now I know.
Wait, thinking about capacity, when I was fishing, I got several bags that wouldn’t expand my capacity anymore. I’d like to help Lil out, and thank them for everything, so I want to offer Lil those bags, “Lil, you said you couldn’t carry much, right?”
“Yup yup, you’re like two-hundred times better at carrying stuff than me Reg!” I crack half a smile at Lil’s exuberant answer. Lil exclaims as if they’re somehow proud of me for my capacity limit. I literally just picked up some bags while fishing is all. Though yeah, their math is pretty close, they can carry around seven units, while I can carry about thirteen hundred thirty seven. Rounded off it is pretty close to two-hundred times better.
“If I give you these extra backpacks, can you use them somehow?” Asking this, I produce several spare backpacks from my inventory, which aren’t being used to grant my own carrying capacity.
“Woah, really, for me?” Lil’s gaze is ridiculous as they ask to be certain. Their eyes are wide and sparkling, their open-mouthed smile takes up most of their face. Most of their face also happens to be most of their head, which also happens to be most of their body.
I try not to laugh, since I’m trying to thank Lil, “Of course, why not?”
“It’s just, these are pretty rare, you know?” Lil’s explanation is a bit odd to me, since I got quite a few of them. Unless they mean these ones that can be held onto, and passed on later perhaps?
Regardless, I want Lil to have the bags. “I didn’t know that really, I guess I’ve just fished a lot. A lot, a lot, over the past few days.”
“The only things like this I ever saw were by the warren, I wasn’t going to try to go get it with all the cragbeasts around though. They were vicious enough to take each other out, that’s how there was any loot for me to see. I might be a strong, proud dragon, but I’m not a dummy, or reckless. If you’re sure, I’d be happy to take them.” Lil looks like they’re trying to contain a ridiculous amount of excitement. I think Lil’s tail is wagging, kind of. More like their tail is slithering side to side rapidly. Since it’s Lil’s only limb, it’s pretty obvious when it’s moving.
I can’t hide my own broad smile as I assure Lil it’s okay, “Yes, please do, we’re friends, right?”
“Totes!” Lil accepts the backpacks, and I notice their capacity jump from seven to three-hundred thirty-seven. “Now it’s safer for me to be in the forest!”
That exclamation was unexpected. I need to request clarification so I simply ask, “What, how so?”
“I normally wouldn’t come down here, because if I breathe fire, I might start the whole jungle on fire. Now I can carry water to put out my fires!” Lil’s answer makes a ton of sense. I’d hate to go to a new land, and then accidentally destroy the entire place just by doing my normal survival routine.
If my fishing here had simultaneously caused deforestation through some strange manner of cause and effect, I’d have felt devastated. For some reason, I don’t want to see these trees damaged unless absolutely necessary to provide materials. I guess I don’t truly need any specific reason to admire these primordial plants. They’re so massive, they must be ancient. They might be redwoods, sequoias, baobabs, I have no idea on plant nomenclature. Well, sort of. I know a rather large number of names of tree types, but can’t remember where I know them from, or which looks like what. My knowledge feels vast, yet my memories feel barren.
Thinking on it, Lil lived in a really barren land. That almost saddens me for Lil. “Oh, oh yeah that’s a good point, I guess there was nothing too flammable up atop the cliff was there?”
“Nope. Can I have one of those container things so I can scoop the water?” Lil makes a single plea of me. How could I possibly refuse?
“Oh, uh, sure, I didn’t even realize I was using them that way.” I have half a smile on my face as I perplexedly look at my own inventory, trying to figure out how one aspect translated to another.
Lil accepts a canteen after I materialize it, and copies what I’d done a moment ago, draining some water from the pond into their inventory. I watch Lil with curiosity, then I remember how nice it felt to hug them. Embarrassedly, I ask, “Lil, we’ve hung out and fished for a while, but still, this might be a weird question, but can we sleep close, like close together? I guess cuddling?”
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“You betcha! I haven’t had a friend before, and hugging felt nice. Curse you lack of arms!” Lil shouts with playful vengeance, striking both of us humorously.
I first empty some water back into the pond, and then scout around the nearby trees for fallen branches, twigs, and vines. After grabbing those, and another enormous leathery leaf, I return to see Lil looking perplexed. “Shelter” is all I say, as I begin to assemble what I think will be a kind of leaning tent, against a tree. With several branches as anchors, or stakes, and holes punched into the giant leaf, I can tie one end of it at an angle up against the tree, with the other end anchored into the ground. I then use another leaf as a blanket, a roll of vines as a pillow, and climb into the new makeshift tent.
“Oh, like a real home!” Lil exclaims excitedly. Once again, we both have concepts of the definitions of words, but why would Lil know what a home is? They’ve lived in a barren biome their entire life.
“Yeah, I suppose, well, amateur nomadic home, but it’s the best I can come up with right now. I’m super tired.” My vision is still a bit fuzzy, and I hurt all over. I yawn unintentionally loudly, stretching tall before I lay down atop the leaf blanket. Lil hops in and scoots into the crook of my arms, as I drift off to sleep laying slightly on my side.
Memory Logged, Dream:
“Fire! Gonna hitcha with Fiyah. Everybody bow down down down, because I’m the new king who wears the crown crown crown.” Sings a faceless, amoeboid figure dressed in leathers as it launches motes of fire from its fingertips. I seem stuck in the role of an observer, unable to move.
Gazing about, everything is awash in a red glow. Somehow even things that I know should be any other color are vibrantly red, like some sort of gray-scale, a red-scale.
This leather-clad figure walks to one of its subordinates, a woman, and they exchange coy glances silently. He then rushes between subordinates, eyeing each one up and down, before staring deeply into their eyes. One apparently displease the figure, this amoeboid touches a chin with their index fingertip. The air is filled with screaming, and then suddenly silence, as that subordinate crumbles to ash.
I awaken, after seemingly only a very short while, to a tiny gout of flame that poofs out of Lil’s snore-bubbles. Just as I see the flame, I quickly roll sideways, bonking into the base of the tree. Did I just have some kind of nightmare about fire, to warn me to roll away from Lil in time? That was incredibly odd, even if it was just a coincidence. Yet even more oddly Lil’s snoring flames don’t really carry much heat, or hurt at all. How can a visibly ignited area be almost no different than the ambient temperature? I hold my hand close to their red, scaly snout to verify. Satisfied that there’s no danger, I roll back over and drift back to sleep rather quickly.
Memory Logged, Dream:
“Oh I’ve a lovely bunch of coconuts, yar that’s you lads, there they are a swabbin’ up me deck! I got bigguns and smalluns, some lunks what’s thick in the head! Betrayin’ me I’d send ‘em ta twist, they’d wish they wound up dead!” Sings a blue-coated piratical figure wearing a tricorn hat. Despite the undertone of the lyrics, everyone on deck seems in good spirits, as the captain dances across the deck. This captain figure is occasionally tossing an arm over the shoulder of a crew member whilst dancing circles. A deckhand spills some kind of gruel or grog upon the deck, and the captain draws a pistol. I worry for a moment, but the captain coolly aims at the spot on the deck where lays the mess. In a moment, a massive flock of seagulls appears swarming that spot on the deck, and the captain opens fire, dropping several of them lifeless upon the deck, scaring off the rest with the loud bang. “Hah, bird’s back on the menu boys!” The crew cheers while the captain points between the bird bodies, and the crewmate who caused the spill. The deckhand who spilled carries the bird carcasses below decks, while the captain grabs a mop and swishes the mess off the deck into the sea.
Huh, that dream was almost wholesome, almost. Like, especially that last part, the captain actually swabbing their own deck? Lil and I lay awake, facing each other, blinking slowly, realizing we’re both staring at one another as we space out. We’ve only slept for perhaps a few hours, based on the lack of rumbling in my stomach.
After our sleep, as usual with my wounds, I seem mostly healed from them. Even the bruises are only slightly tender. I honestly wonder if I can break any bones, or if I have had some broken, and they just set immediately. I could swear my right ribs broke, and the shrapnel began to dig at my right lung, nearly puncturing my lung.
Thinking about my bones, and various body parts and attributes, I ask, “Why don’t we look at our stats pages, figure out what went up during that fight?”
“Sure pal, I got a glimpse this morning while we were staring at each other, your numbers made huge jumps!” Lil excitedly shares.
I’m a bit slower on the uptake, or at least slower to be able to parse our stats pages. “Really? Huh, oh, oh yeah I guess they did.”
Lil and I return to our laying positions to retire fairly shortly after looking at our stats, still exhausted from the previous day.
Lil asks, “Rej buddie? If I share, can I has story?”
I chuckle, completely oblivious to what Lil’s statement means as I ask for clarification, “That verbage is totally weird you goofball, but, I mean, sure, I guess? What story? What do you mean?”
Lil’s response is jovial, “I just want to know everything about you. Since you have so few logs, I figure I can make it like an adventure bedtime story!”
As far as bedtime stories go, Lil reading aloud my entire first few days of logs to me isn’t the worst I’ve ever heard. Or well, I suppose it’s equally the worst and the best, since I’ve never heard one before. My brain is so weird. I haven’t lived for very long, as far as I can tell, so it doesn’t hurt to indulge Lil. It’s mildly endearing, and it does help us both to understand my trauma. Even the way they asked was its own heartwarming silliness.