Four further nights spent in the glass hotel as guest to whose deitree’s corpse he robbed, the dwarf woke from sound sleep. Even having scrubbed himself before bed, he could not resist another bathhouse excursion. The dwarf whipped his freshly laundered ocean blue gi and tied it secure with obi gold as autumn, feet slipped into the pair of wood geta now quite gotten used to. Exiting the hotel off a wave to the clerk, he set off on an eight legged steed of similar but smaller size to that of Paris, colors vastly red over black. They journeyed across familiar vines woven trough dirt, fresh morning above. The dwarf admired the fast craftsmanship of the barns--more pending. It filled him with pride seeing spiders scurrying about in the open, crawling up and down the construction, relaxing in the corners of the barnyard, and weaving designs all round. More, guards atop the ramparts guided their patrols on the back of arachnids already. He watched two nearly collide only for one to crawl away along brick and resume its route. If the settlement suffered of an insect problem before, they would soon not. It embarrassed the dwarf to be cited by Doetrieve as the inspiration for rolling out military mounting, a much mocked effort by Lord Moth, the elf claimed, but one the new captain hoped could mean the difference. Though the dwarf could not really discern what enemy Doetrieve would be prepping against except feral funguay, the spiders would be more effective in caves than horses, he could admit.

Indeed the elfs did not seem to domesticate horse. He thought of other animals whose daily expected sights he missed with weary heart: the cow, the duck, the pig, the chicken. He’d befriended many hybrids of swine and once fought enlarged egg spawn, but neither were quite what was remembered back home. The dwarf, atop a massive writhing arachnid, thought of the unnaturalness of his ride. It must have taken Doetrieve, the first of the elfs to befriend the spiders, an amount of bravery the dwarf could not have hoped to match in the same sandals.

Having dined with the captain the night before, the dwarf did not see any reason to delay his journey back to the chapel in the mountains. He passed through the gate and bid goodbye to a sober Smucker and teetering Deertre. Soon arriving to the border of the forest, the unnamed mount of hardy proportions and strength rose to its master’s reins and ascended up trees and onto the great sea of green and thick tanglings. By late afternoon the dwarf passed the mossy cottage, took the bag of coins he’d been rewarded, emptied a handful into his cowskin pouch, and tossed the string tied rest against the doorstep, riding off for the steeple.

Shoving aside stacked wood planks just barely blocking the way--enough room for a miniature funguay to enter and leave--the dwarf commanded his new steed sit and entered the dilapidated chapel alone. Hole above sealed in web--ceiling itself as well--hole beneath agape as ever, the brilliant sunset outside shined through stained glass of a spectrum of colors casting his flock in light. Waspig rushed the dwarf. Collapsed, the two embraced with the dwarf’s heart tender, and he rose after to reconnect with the rest of his creatures. The clacking his sandals made on tile startled both him and them, and so he slipped them off to continue his affections. Tall, wide Pistol blocked an aggrieved Cath trapped as well behind equally wild haired Bathiel and heavily dripping Speedy. Mustard and Blissey, their appearances so similar, could hardly be picked apart as their snouts investigated his clothes; the dwarf needed know neither name to reciprocate. Lone albino Joshua was looked for and found towards the back of the chancel at the altar. The dwarf drew up acting as if to merely ‘SAVE’--in a flash his arms wrapped tight around the less than enthused recipient. But it did not struggle, and the dwarf released it soon after to make good on his initial intention.

“SAVING... SAVED.”

The Ponderous One died in the blank sheets that followed. The dwarf turned round and became suspicious, though he could not place the feeling’s origin. Red and green and purple and yellow silhouettes sat or stood around the nave--those which had not followed the dwarf to the back. Brushing the matted fur of Waspig, his eyes widened. No fungus grew. Looking over his creatures, not a one sported anything but their own hair and tusks and wings--those applicable. Without Funguayou for explanation, the dwarf was left to investigate and ponder. He completed his initial shove of the planks obstructing what once were double doors and allowed the red seeped spider inside, introducing it to the wasphogs one at a time (and Speedy), well aware the process would likely need repeating. The dwarf sealed the entrance and set off exploring the rest of the church for interlopers while the yet named arachnid began weaving in a corner. Followed by Waspig, Speedy, and Blissey, oddly, the dwarf searched hallways and study rooms and the kitchen and found no sign of spawn. But already in the last room, his depleted stomach demanded a thorough examination of the pantry, and he began to fry jarred vegetables.

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 3”

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 4”

His own hunger satisfied, the dwarf distributed fried greens to his flock, his mind though elsewhere. Indeed as he ate and as they ate, the dwarf decided a breaking away from the doctor’s supply drops were necessary to ween off from the neighbor he wasn’t certain he’d want to see again. With the pilfered broccoli and corn seeds in his pouch, the dwarf slipped outside as the evening transitioned to night, and he walked the perimeter of the steeple with much attention paid to his feet, one step in geta at a time. The moon in full (and what was once mistaken for one) the heat of the night wore on the dwarf, and he determined many days of this world’s summer ahead. He’d been foolish, chastised the dwarf, and not asked elf nor funguay whether seasons were tracked, if a calendar existed at all. There was much the dwarf had taken for granted as a former farm boy.

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Broccoli would surely be ineligible for planting--the dwarf thought it too hot. Even corn could be in danger if temperatures rose too high. He furrowed his brow at a lack of trading with the elfs--what strange crops did they have? The dwarf thought of the packet of seeds he’d found beneath the mossy cottage with inexplicable representation attached. The dwarf would ask the elfs before Mallow. But he would not ride tonight, and he would not go anywhere without a long rest in the company of his animals. And so, back within the steeple, the dwarf blockaded the entrance once more and settled into a nook of creatures...

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 14”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 15”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 16”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 17”

Muddied pickaxe in hand, the dwarf, before the sun would break the mist, set about ploughing. Outside his flock frolicked, Waspig and Bathiel buzzing around trees, Blissey and Pistol wrestling with a clear advantage to the girthier. Speedy trailed the slow moving dwarf, axe rising and falling, dirt breaking apart and occasionally mixing with mud. At this, though it pained him, the dwarf shooed Speedy off, for while it hurt to do so, crop failure would hurt worse. Rock piled disorderly as the dwarf navigated the earth.

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 18”

Having broken only someyards worth of soil, the sun rang in the afternoon and the dwarf retired beneath the shade of the sloped steeple roof. Across, the river passed through the alpines. He munched on an apple in the company of his companions, a sheen of sweat across his brow. The dwarf’s hands vibrated in pain. He put his bald to the back of the wall and looked up at the glaring dot in the sky. What sun was it? Was it his? Where was he, really? The dwarf contemplated between bites of flesh and dribbling juice the circumstances of his arrival and the moon that met him at night. How had The Ponderous done it? A ravine opened and a man was swallowed. And now he inhabited a new world with familiar star and rock, outlier a pale blue planet on odd nights. But why did day and dusk feel so familiar? The dwarf could not grasp his transferring from one world to another, and he regret ‘SAVING’ after all, confident he could have obtained more from the deitree. Instead, the only path to answers lay far north in a bay reachable by boat only--a boat he could no longer afford. The dwarf regret his giving of any sum to Doctor Mallow. But he hated even more the idea of owing the funguay anything, and the two modes of thought conflicted throughout the rest of his meal.

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 19”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 20”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 21”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 22”

Evening found the dwarf splayed on his back, insects buzzing to be driven off by Waspig and co. Many more yards had been dug; it seemed to the dwarf he’d still done too little. ‘XP’ as comfort, he wondered at what the thirtieth level would bring. He thought then too of the emerald chamber miles beneath the church and the stairway that would someday need digging. Well, as long as he had Waspig, he thought, a flight down could be repeatable. But then if the dwarf relocated so too would Waspig were it not commanded stay--alone in a dark cavern connected to a ruin lived in by horrors the dwarf did not wish to imagine would they be anything like the dream eater. No--he would need to eventually mine into the hole and create a spiraling stairway downwards. The dwarf gazed upon what small work he accomplished throughout the day as he thought this, disheartened by the weeks it would surely take for the project. He tossed his apple core, caught and consumed mid flight by Mustard...

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 23”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 24”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 25”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 26”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 27”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 28”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 29”

Many days passed and the provisions stored in the pantry began to dwindle, and Funguayou attempted no supply run in the interim. The dwarf could not break--he would sooner mount his arachnid back to the elfen settlement for support, and he did. Off in the morning, there by the late afternoon and greeted heartily by Captain Doetrieve and new barns, the dwarf returned to the steeple in the evening with fresh bread, assorted fruits and nuts, crispy, strange alien snacks, and even more seeds--not broccoli nor corn alone but beetroot and ‘steelroot’. While visiting he indeed posited seasons and the captain confirmed them: vapr, swet, chil, and slet. The dwarf got the gist. He was also offered pigsect--he declined.

Riding through the night, the dwarf returned to the chapel and slept fast...

A fungus headed bird strafed above the dwarf, his rusted pickaxe poised. Before it could come down, the dwarf sensed an approaching figure. His animals continued to graze and buzz unabated, thus the dwarf assumed no inbound malice. Regardless the thick fur dominating his skin straightened themselves and his beard began to itch. The recognized visitor having completed its journey, he was addressed:

“I have come to teach you faith.”