Dakota had, over the last week made good use of his [Minor Mundane Repair] skill. It was handy, almost too much so. Pointing his finger at one of the cupboards he used the skill. Shelves straightened, doors righted themselves, and the hinges unbent. Did it seem more powerful than before? He couldn’t tell. Either way, it felt like cheating. That had been the last cupboard needing repair. He had a fully functioning kitchen space without lifting a finger. He only wished he could use it more than a few times per day.

Dakota had a special project for the day. He was going to plant the seeds he had gotten from the stranger on the path. But he wasn’t going to plant them just anywhere, no, this would need to be a special spot. A place of honour.

Lifting his hammer stone, Dakota tried pounding a nail. Pain rocked up his arm. His right hand hadn’t fully recovered yet, nor had the burns. Gritting his teeth, he pounded again. He was sick and tired of laying around. He was building this planter box if it killed him.

Thirty minutes later, Dakota lay, panting on the floor. It had nearly killed him. At least it felt like it. He had finished the planter. It wasn’t exactly pretty… but it did the job. He felt like he was using that phrase a lot lately.

Haltingly, he dragged the box to the garden bed. It wasn’t heavy but his legs were too delicate to rest anything against. There, he hoed up chunks of earth, careful to pick out any weeds or roots. This would be the best soil he could get.

Once it was three-quarters full, Dakota encountered another problem. If it hadn’t been heavy before, it definitely was now. After some consideration, he figured its current spot was as honourable as any other. The planter box would stay beside the garden.

A couple buckets of water moistened the soil, creating a muddy paste. Perfect. Undoing his drawstring pouch, Dakota shook half the seeds into his hand. He kept the other half in case the seeds didn’t like water. It felt silly to think but at this point, he wasn’t making any presumptions.

Fingering a small divet, he gingerly put a seed into the earth, covering it in a couple inches of dirt. He did this for the other thirteen as well.

The blue flowers had an ethereal quality which Dakota couldn’t quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, he wanted it on the farm.

[Frontier Farmer Level 10]

Dakota’s bleary eyes shot open.

“Are you kidding me?! I nearly had to die to reach level nine and I get level ten from planting a few seeds?”

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He couldn’t reason it. Those seeds might be more important than he initially thought. He was also disappointed by the lack of skill accompanying the level-up.

“Thanks for nothing, world.”

Another week passed in a slow, summer haze. Dakota settled into a rhythm of eating berries, weeding, and going for walks around the farmyard.

Jogging by the farmhouse, he finished his fourth lap. He was trying to build his strength up. The days spent laying on the kitchen floor had noticeably reduced his endurance. His legs still ached but the pain was manageable. He paused at the well, rubbing his back against the stone wall. It was so itchy. Pulling himself away, Dakota started another lap. He knew healing this fast was near miraculous, not that he was complaining. It did drive a wedge of curiosity into his brain though. What gave him levels? How did an island float? His first weeks here had been dominated by the need to survive. These last two weeks had let his body, and mind, rest and now he wanted answers.

Gazing into the forest, Dakota thought he knew where to start.

He didn’t head to his usual spot beside the stream, instead bushwacking through the forest in a looping arc which brought him upstream of his trap and fishing rod. He figured the goblins were likely watching the regular paths, and he did not want them to know where he was.

Resting his hoe against his shoulder, Dakota scanned the stream. Boulders covered the banks, making traversing them difficult, especially considering his fragility. Hiking through the forest parallel to the stream was an option, although he produced a cacophony crashing through the bush like that. Hmm… he looked at the stream, there weren’t as many boulders in the stream bed itself… and the water would be refreshing in the heat.

Stripping off his pants, Dakota waded into the stream, the cool water soothing his remaining burns. He left his runners on, not wanting to risk cutting open a foot.

The water came to mid-thigh, the current steady but not overwhelming. Dakota found it relaxing wading up the stream like this, the water gently slapping as the sun shone overhead. Only the possibility of running afoul goblins kept him from breaking into a song. He was wary of them, especially the chief. But he needed answers. How else was he going to get home? Home… he hadn’t thought of it recently had he. That disturbed him, he should be thinking of it every day, at least. Shouldn’t he? Excluding the goblins, Dakota had, in a weird way, enjoyed his time so far. There was mystery and wonder about this world, the little he had explored, which drove him to find out more. But his home was…well, his home. He owed it to his family to make it back.

A distant crack sent him sinking into the water. He pulled himself next to a boulder, only keeping his eyes and nose above.

Two chittering goblins rounded a tree on the opposite bank upstream from him. They were the small kind, no more than three feet tall. It didn’t look as though they were scouting judging by their casual demeanour.

One of them sat on a log propped between two boulders over the stream. What was it doing? Oh no. It wasn’t…

Dakota sealed his mouth as distant plopping sounds came from the log. He was never fishing in this stream again.

The two finished their business and headed back into the trees. Just as they were disappearing, his shoulder bumped into the boulder causing a few small pebbles to splash into the water. The goblins froze. They slowly crept back towards the stream, not making a sound. They would see him if he didn’t do something.

Sucking in a huge breath, he fully submerged.