A clear morning greeted Dakota upon exiting the farmhouse. From here, it was impossible to tell he was on a floating rock. Everything felt so solid. So grounded.

Panic fluttered in his stomach. He did not have any food and a tribe of murderous goblins wanted his hide. He took a shuddering breath. Freaking out wouldn’t help. He needed to compartmentalize and move on.

His major concern right now was securing a better source of food. Grabbing his hoe, Dakota strode through the long grass around the farmhouse. Surely there was one around here.

A few minutes later he found what he was looking for. An immense garden bed sat only a dozen yards from the farmhouse. Grass had grown over it which had masked its presence. He spotted a carrot head tucked among the weeds along with a variety of other vegetables. His grandparents had abandoned their garden bed years ago but fresh sprouts could still be seen growing each Spring. The same was true here.

Dakota combed through the grass. He found a squash at one end, some beats at the other end and, to his delight, a few potato plants scattered throughout.

He staked the corners of the bed. It was probably forty feet by sixty feet. Clearing this should not take more than a few hours.

Back aching under the hot sun, Dakota tossed an armload of weeds onto the burn pile. He had made… some progress. It turned out that clearing weeds as high as your waist was a little more work than he anticipated. The best strategy was to chew up a patch of dirt with the corner of the hoe, then pull out the loosened grass clumps. He ran into the occasional vegetable which he stacked on the steps to the house. Some were too rotten to eat, but he thought he could replant those.

He was also beginning to appreciate his [Calloused Hands] skill. While his back ached and his shoulders burned, his hands were holding up thanks to the thick layer of crusty skin.

The waning sun cast long shadows as he paused for a drink. A single, measly swathe of cleared ground ran the length of the garden.

“‘Be done by noon’, I said, ‘it’ll be easy’ I said.”

Switching gears, he moved from clearing earth to planting. He had dug up a few old potatoes too rotten to eat which would make a good starting point. Dakota hoed a line of divots in the middle of his cleared swathe which he poured water into. He then cut the potatoes into thirds and placed a piece into each divot. This was followed by mounding the dirt back over, creating a neat row of hills.

There was peace in working with your hands. Dirt under your nails. He had grown up on an acreage but moved to the city in his teens. This made him miss the countryside. As he worked, he developed a rhythm, first make the divet, then a splash from the bucket, potato the hole, mound dirt over, and on to the next one. Upon finishing his last mound, he realized it was nearly dark. Had he worked all day?

The pops in his back as he straightened seemed to be confirmation.

A thought occurred to him as he hobbled back to the farmhouse. The goblins had not made an appearance all day. Dakota peered into the shadowed trees. Were they out there now? Waiting for him to fall asleep so they could slit his throat?

The briefest movement caught his eye as he turned to the house. Maybe it was nothing, maybe is was not, either way, he was not taking unnecessary chances. Hurrying up the steps, he tried closing the half-destroyed door. The hinges were bent and would not shut all the way. Dropping his armful of vegetables, he pointed at the door.

[Minor Mundane Repair]

The door began to right itself. The hinges unbent as wood pieces flew into place. Unfortunately, like when he had tried repairing the window, the door didn’t totally fix itself. It was too complex of a repair. Thankfully, the skill did enough for him to close it and jam a chair behind the knob. He felt better with the entrance semi-barricaded, not that they couldn’t climb in through a window if they wanted.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

That night, Dakota did not fall asleep right away. He lay there, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house, his ears straining for any hint of danger. It was times like this he missed his family. They had not come to mind much over the last few days which felt odd. Now, in the dark and quiet, he wished they were with him. He had four siblings, two younger, and two older. He was close with each of them in a different way and dearly wished they were with him. It was lonely.

A distant undulating cry broke the stillness of the night. Bolting upright, Dakota clutched his hoe. It was the same cry the goblins made. Sleep evaded him deep into the night. Only as the first light of dawn broke did Dakota finally manage to fall asleep.

[Frontier Farmer Level 6]

[New Skill - Hoe Proficiency]

- Break

He woke at the break of dawn.

“Are you kidding me.”

Dragging his body from the floor, he mechanically washed up at the well and snacked on a carrot. Why…was he doing this? He could sleep in if he wanted to. But something about sleeping past dawn bothered him.

Shrugging off the oddity, Dakota surveyed the day's work. Clearing, lots and lots of clearing. Perhaps enough to plant some carrots and beets. As he strode to the garden bed, he noticed green sprouts poking up through the potato mounds. Funny, they looked just like little potato sprouts, but that couldn’t be right. Those had only been planted yesterday.

The third oddity became apparent as he chopped a weed down. He was fast. Noticeably faster than yesterday. He couldn’t attribute it to any one thing in particular but as soon as he picked up the hoe, he felt like he had been using one his entire life. He knew exactly how hard to strike and which angle worked best for different types of grass clumps. It was like a small blanket improvement on every aspect of hoeing.

Despite his improved hoeing skills, clearing the garden bed was still difficult, slow work. By noon, he was three-quarters done another three-foot swathe down the length of the bed and by sunset, he had already cleared a significant portion of the next swathe.

Carrots were the first vegetable of the day to be planted. Dakota didn’t have enough to fill an entire row but variation seemed important. Beets went in next, followed by a couple of squash. He was not much of a squash guy but right now, a baked squash sounded heavenly. Speaking of food, he was running out. There were only a few edible vegetables left which he wouldn’t mind planting if he could help it.

He could go to the stream. Too bad his nerves weren’t quite as hardened as he would like. He would survive another day or two before resorting to more desperate measures.

The next two days followed much the same routine. Clear a three-foot swathe of grass and weeds, plant any vegetables he found and hole up in the farmhouse for the night. There were cries both nights which left him with only a few hours of sleep.

By the fourth, Dakota could feel the lack of sleep affecting his ability to function. Little mishaps made him irrationally angry, he was dog tired by noon, and, most noticeably, he was starting to go insane with waking up at the crack of dawn. He wanted to sleep in, yet he couldn’t. His body simply would not allow him to stay sleeping, no matter how tired. It was like an internal timer that was permanently set to six AM. Maybe a change of pace would help.

The cries kept him awake but what really bothered him was feeling exposed while sleeping. The goblins could break into the farmhouse from most windows. Not to mention the door which would only prove a temporary hindrance.

The easiest way to barricade the house would involve securing boards across all the windows and creating a better lock for the doors.

Wandering to the barn, he began rummaging. It was mostly junk other than a bucket of rusty nails and a broken hammer. He experimentally used the busted hammer by holding the head in his hand and directly pounding but it did not generate enough force. Perhaps something heavier - a rock, tapered just right would do it.

He eventually found one in a big pile of rocks near one of the fields. It wasn’t perfect, the tapered end had a jagged edge which he thought might wear on his hand. Thankfully, his hands were near wear-proof.

Boards were still a problem but he had a plan for that. The question was whether to secure the boards to the outside of the window or the inside of the window.

If he secured them to the inside, a person (or creature) could throw themselves against the boards until the nails worked loose. But if he secured them to the outside, the boards could easily be pried off.

Dakota decided securing them to the inside was his best option. He could always jam angled braces behind them for support.

His plan for acquiring boards revolved around disassembling the animal stalls in the barn. The stalls were made from fist-thick timbers the width of his outstretched hand and were fixed together with huge nails judging by the size of the nailhead.

He tried giving one of the sideboards a front kick. Now, Dakota had a strong front kick. He had done Muy Thai for a year at college and had developed a reputation for his kicks.

The board did not budge an inch.

“Jimminy freaking cricket.”

Hopping on one foot, he realized not having a plan for deconstructing the stall may have been a small oversight.