Spiders returned to the church on the plains under command of dwarf. Though no bandit had been by nor left evidence suggesting such, the dwarf was wary. In traveling between blank bibles the dwarf lunged for a loose stave and held it poised for action. None met him, of course, and he crept from the doors to hike to the elf settlement. On return, a lazy afternoon greeted he and the three rehomed arachnids. The dwarf’s behind bumped satisfyingly atop the freshly made saddle, one of now many. In his cowskin pouch were more steelroot seeds, nuts, and frog legs. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he hoped off and began chewing dried toad. His eyes watered as they’d done two days previous beside Doctor Mallow.

Inside the once desecrated steeple, the dwarf shut the intact doors and gestured for a single spider to accompany a venture. Its red frame trailed the dwarf into the hallway adjacent, and the dwarf realized a near exact design to the church in the mountains minus its unique decorations of blood and hay. A room of straw and blankets filled one room, empty shelves in another. The steeple featured a kitchen as well, and the dwarf could not restrain saliva as he approached the pantry.

Pickled somethings awaited the dwarf, light illuminating the foreign but certainly edible objects inside teal juice. There were bags of potatoes--a massive victory not only for the dwarf but the pigsects who’d all nearly eaten through their kibble. But of most surprise was the bent shield below the shelves. Rimmed in bronze, middle mahogany, the dwarf turned the plate in his hands. Each bandit having been caught in Paris’ webs with weapons drawn, the dwarf had found nothing of use left behind up until the bent discovery. Truthfully he struggled to think up a use. A shield was a shield, he concluded. Heroes in pulp readings held their defensive arms up against even the fiery breath of dragons. But something else twanged within him: it was indeed defensive arms, and the dwarf secretly wished to find no weapon. The dwarf thought suddenly of the hunting he’d considered the night of the doctor’s visit. To do so would require more lethal means than a disk.

Behind the bronze lined loot was a belt the dwarf gradually identified as a shield strap. Despite the addition of weight to the back of his blue gi, the dwarf’s physical form carried it well. It had felt good in his hands for the moment he looked it over; was it the wrong size for humans?

The dwarf sat on a pew. He gazed upon the targets of hay stuffed with arrows. He counted the skulls pinned to walls, penetrated by poles, dangling from the tall ceiling crawling with arachnids. Many other pews had been destroyed, and it seemed human spillings soaked a great deal of furniture as well as the book itself. But the dwarf thought how curious it was they’d left the book at all. The dwarf approached it.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO SAVE YOUR PROGRESS?”

The dwarf attempted to lift the bible from the lectern. Both hands gripped, it did not budge. His simple question gained a simple answer.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO RELOCATE?”

Back at the church of his flock, the destruction left in the wake of the dream eater did not seem so dissimilar to that of the plains. Though the dwarf had seen to some cleaning within the steeple, the work amounted to shoving oneself against piles to the walls, a trimming of sorts, mahogany instead shattered tiles. It pleased Mallow, a comfort for the dwarf hopeful to gain more insight into ‘FAITH’. To its word, the doctor would return tomorrow. As the current crops grew, the dwarf decided to throw himself about relieving the church of its trash entirely. While he’d considered repurposing the hoards of scrap and glue, it was all just that. Some pews escaped with light damage and could be restored. But the majority of the dream eater’s destruction required removal entirely; it was a relief the flock had not hurt themselves upon any of it and a shock all had lasted long as they did so dilapidated. With the portable wheelbarrow left behind, he snapped it into usable state and began filling it for the first of many rounds.

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The sun sank to the sea before the city before the church on the plains. A great distance away up past the elf settlement and great forest, the dwarf finished the last of his hauling efforts. He’d brought wooden scraps of all sizes outside up against the back of the church like firewood. What he saved and hid elsewhere could be split into two categories: fodder and true garbage. The former he left to the side of the chapel’s entrance, wood then on three sides, and the latter within one of the rooms already occupied by debris. Better in storage than sight, argued the dwarf. Stars began showing. He awarded the duty of further digging to the following day.

A great part of the dwarf, of course, yearned to know what the recently netted ‘MINING’ milestone meant. A part of him considered the implication of a ‘DRILL TECHNIQUE’ and naturally compared it to ‘ADRENALINE’. If the latter made his legs blue from overuse, the same would likely be true again. But having worked so hard over the week with so little area ploughed, the dwarf thought himself willing to consider. Even so, his body ached enough to stay his hand for now. The dwarf would reassess in time...

Throughout the day the dwarf worked; his flock had entered and left the church at will all the while, and the dwarf wondered what modification to the future doors would be necessary. He’d never carried much an inclination for woodworking nor did his father push the hobby, but the necessary tools and blueprints nonetheless could be found at the farm. The dwarf lost himself in these thoughts on break within the comparatively cooler steeple, outside warm as expected. A great squealing snapped him awake. The dwarf burst past the empty doorway and towards the river where distress loudly continued. He arrived to watch a great frog emerge from the river of as mighty a size as what once swallowed him whole. Its tongue shot and took Mustard hostage, gone in seconds. The dwarf’s eyes lit fire, and the frog turned to face the intruder stomping and wading. Its tongue arrived onto the dwarf’s drawn shield, and he felt its great pull as he shot into the beast. Freed, he crashed onto a slick tongue and found not only Mustard but sibling Blissey buzzing around haplessly.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 38”

Soothing the scared pigsect, the dwarf made a move to climb aboard before realizing its smaller size than that of Waspig would result in its crushing. He silently appreciated how well paired he and the absent pet were. Frog bouncing, the two were thrown around while Blissey continued to lap air. As the dwarf fell and rose, fell and rose again, he unstrapped his shield and readied his arm. Activating ‘DRILL’, the shield blasted from his throw and smashed into the uvula, bursting apart on impact, bronze ring sailing. The uvula visibly dented in what light suddenly filled such dank conditions, and violent coughs sent the three out back into the river. Regaining his senses, the dwarf approached the deflated frog.

“MELEE INCREASED TO 11”

“MELEE INCREASED TO 12”

“MELEE INCREASED TO 13”...

Several hunks of pew gained flames, the dwarf’s ‘SURVIVAL’ rising in one level. Rather than drag the corpse out to the kitchen, he would cook it the same as he had once before. Waspig and its fellow creatures gathered around crackling flames beneath the moon--save Blissey, blissfully splashing--and watched their master cook, two levels gained in the respective skill as well. Having been employed once again, Waspig aided the dwarf in the detaching the defeated to dinner. The dwarf maneuvered through these processes with no particular feeling, his body acting autonomously. The first bite he ate following the frog’s roast loosened his tears in greater expel than the dried meat from Doetrieve. His flock looked on curious but with limited attention, and so they returned to their feast. Energy restored itself within the dwarf’s body as the last of the flames snuffed, he then laying his frame down, dented bronze in hand, fire dried fur on all sides. Together the dwarf and his creatures drifted off to a sleep the sun would not see.