By the time night fell upon the boundless roof of the forest, the dwarf had crawled up from the well acquainted divide in the earth. In his gain were a level in ‘BASE JUMPING’ and five more in ‘ATHLETICS’. Bathing in the darkness above the fissure, for only the opposite side of the ravine glowed with the thumping and beating of bugs, the dwarf’s arms pounded in similar distant rhythm. Having been pushed along through winding paths alone without the aid of neither hog nor spider, his legs rang. The dwarf had skipped a meal to climb. With heaving chest and aching arms he groaned. But he did not reprimand himself too much, unbuttoning his cowskin bag and letting roll an apple which came and went lavishly; there were no manners atop grass.

Towards an overarching goal, the dwarf had successfully traveled to the border of elfen land in a single day by his own stout legs. As a boy he’d gone further with longer--but, then, he’d never had to contend with the chasms of this world.

Sucking the dark air around him, the dwarf set his plan to his wits. Discovering the date of the lieutenant's execution seemed as large a priority as finding him. How the dwarf planned to do this, he didn’t really know. He’d soon discover the manned perimeter of the elf settlement had greatly expanded, and usable darkness in between lanterns and torches were few and far. As he later circled the area from under fungus and tree, a rustling of several branches in so large a collection of noise startled the dwarf. He was certain he’d just encountered a patrol but remained petrified, exhausted, unable to will a flee. But the still stance rewarded the dwarf, for out from foliage came the chittering Paris, awash in excitement at meeting one known. As the dwarf became swallowed up by nuzzlings of affection, it took immense composure to not break down in fear and hysterics. He reminded himself, the spider was a creature like all others--it deserved a warm welcome. The dwarf produced another apple and fed the spider, drawing his hand after towards pedipalp and another to soft, grass-like hair.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY SKILL INCREASED TO 30”

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY MILESTONE 1 REACHED”

“LARGER MOUNTS UNLOCKED”

The dwarf’s wide eyes met with the undisturbed many of Paris. It took some time to digest the milestone, realizing he’d been granted a right or ability to ride the hulking arachnid before him. He only began the first attempt of a climb before realizing a limitation of his stature. So, guiding the spider to a felled mushroom log, he successfully wormed atop the willing creature. Then, as if buttered, the dwarf slid completely off and into bushes. Rising, he gave another attempt and found himself in the same position. Despite having read the message which floated, fixed, and dissipated like any other textual update, he doubted his interpretation of it or, worse, worried Paris could not be counted among ‘LARGER MOUNTS’ like assumed. But a significant thought bubbled up inside the dwarf: what if he needed the saddle?

The dwarf pursed his lips. The requirement of the spider’s saddle seemed likeliest. He did not remember the exact thicket where it hung, but the dwarf figured the hideout discoverable with intention--if the elves had not beaten him to it. But he’d need to be within the walls to search, and he found the notion disconcerting, guard positions stretched from one end to the other--there would be no climb. Even with the saddle, Paris would find hopping undetected difficult. But one area did not seem to feature much in the way of patrols: the front gate. On either side of its doors were, the dwarf found sneaking round with spider close behind, two sole guards. Above them torches burned, but no man walked the rampart.

The dwarf swallowed a dry throat. His fists balled but they did not open. He guided Paris away from the settlement and back some ways to test if the lieutenant's arachnid companion had been trained. He attempted various commands that fell on lack of ears, though the spider showed understanding--or misunderstanding--recognizably enough. Encouraging Paris to stay put, however, seemed to have some effect, though not outright how the dwarf desired. The way his palm shot out did much to the pigsects but little to the enlarged arachnid, chittering in a manner the dwarf comprehended as amusement.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY SKILL INCREASED TO 31”

But a certain tone in a gruff, quick delivery influenced Paris greatly. Repeating himself as necessary, the dwarf affirmed his desire to have the spider move no further. And finding some success, the dwarf threw himself at repetition--so long as the spider did not otherwise reveal boredom.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY SKILL INCREASED TO 32”

Practice put to test, the dwarf left the arachnid where it waited patiently and he traveled, hands shaking, to the front gate of the elfs. Both sharp eared soldiers on either side of the gate shifted and glanced at one another before the bolder of the two spoke.

“Wuz you?”

His breath tasted similar to his father’s, thought the dwarf. Before he could answer, the soldier’s opposite chirped.

“Is that little feller. The one we almost ‘ung, ‘member?”

“Nuh.”

“Were you there?”

“‘Course.”

“I don’t trust it.”

“Ain’t no liar.”

“‘Oo else we hunged, huh?”

“We ‘ung the lieutenant already? N’one told me!”

“Naw, you fool. Ain’t for four more moons--so y’are a liar.”

“Ain’t no liar.”

The dwarf remained motionless throughout the dialogue in disbelief at the conduct of the guards, relishing in the lack of either’s propriety. Better, he’d learned now the date of Doetrieve’s execution without a word offered. Even if killed, he figured, the dwarf would have that much. And so, deciding to push his luck, the dwarf interrupted the guards’ seemingly endless discussion with mention of a roach coach.

“‘Oach coach? Wuzzat?”

“E’s saying e’s a close ally of the lieutenant's, you twit.”

“Ain’t no twit. An’ I ain’t no liar, neither.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Y’are a fool, ‘ow’s ‘at?”

“I am quite wise oo’ll find.”

The guard satisfied in silence at his confident declaration, his more sober companion turned directly to face the dwarf.

“I’ll let ya in, and the two on ‘e other side’ll, too. But keep off the streets. Yer on yer own, friend or no friend of Doetrieve.”

The massive gate closing behind the dwarf, he glanced at the two guarding the other side, expressions blank but menacing. The dwarf diverted from the vine woven lit streets of the settlement and began tracing the inner wall. At one point in his trek he began to shed cautiousness, and this clumsy realization chilled the dwarf as he, just concealed by large leaves, was called to by a deep voiced elf. Worse, a glance between green revealed a uniform. The dwarf did consider another usage of Doetrieve’s code phrase--but a feeling deep within him urged reconsideration, for he did not anticipate it working on one so curious as to call to rustling bushes.

“Come out at once!”

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 10”

“I said, I say... come out! Do not make me repeat it!”

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 11”

“Dare you refuse my command?”

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 12”

After a fifth cry and fourth skill increase, the dwarf realized the soldier had talked himself out of it, a trail of muttering disappearing into the glare of street lights mystical and runed. The dwarf sighed and resumed his search with more care.

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 13”

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 14”

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 15”

Mountain his reliable guide, the dwarf finally came to the hideout he sought. Already weeds sprang up between planks, though the corner was not much in the way of construction to have begun with. Still it saddened him to see already the first sign of neglect, and he assured himself justice would be brought to Captain Locust. Reminded of the request made of Doctor Mallow, the dwarf considered what exactly he himself thought justice to be. On a practical level, the dwarf did not know where to begin looking for treasure. Morally, his heart knew he must put the request to Doetrieve, and the doctor must be satisfied with that. This and much else the dwarf hoped. All this he weighed after having successfully unhooked the saddle and returned to the imposing gate. Those on their shift informed the dwarf, in sardonic tones, they just nearly switched over with those less sympathetic. Allowed open, the dwarf, wide saddle bunched between arm, wasted no time in exiting the gateway. But as they shut behind, a guard on this side called for the dwarf to halt. He knew the word arrived sober, and it did not sound familiar either.

“What’s ‘at saddl‘bout?”

The dwarf could not be convinced whether the question came threateningly or not. If a simple ask, reasoned the dwarf, why hesitate? More than anything, he did not wish to displease the fresh guard; if a single simple reply could quell whatever menace he assumed, the dwarf would choose it over more repetition. Indeed, just feet away the dwarf had considered the complete opposite in opinion--how deft a blow he took from hiking and fear could not be measured. Though the dwarf did also come to think he would not require searching nearly as long on a second attempt nor would he fear a negative response from the gate’s initial soldiers, if fast enough. His mind having traveled so great a distance, the dwarf’s silence spoke for him.

“Damn it, beard boy, I ain’t like to repeat myself. I says what’s ‘at saddle about?”

The dwarf answered in the affirmative of a large chicken.

“Funny boy.”

The guard lunged forward and snatched the dwarf’s wrist. The dwarf attempted to jerk away; he at once felt a violent jerk from his uniformed assailant before allowed loose, and he perceived a great splattering of white web round the elf’s exposed face, both hands fastened in clear desperate attempt at freeing what could not be. His companion, also free of drink, took the dwarf by both arms from behind and waited patiently as Paris crept from cover.

“Damned awful, ain’it?” asked the hostage taker, helmet ducked. “She killed some good men that day, the one we shoulda ‘ad you hung right. An’ that fungus fella. Hey, did ‘oo know it’s dead or alive for you? But the spider--dead.”

As Paris drew nearer, the dwarf commanded it stop. This did work and did trigger the guard to maneuver a hand over beard. But the guard loosened his grab of the dwarf enough in the process to allow him slack, to bash his head back against helmet. The soldier yelped hitting the ground, and his freed hostage bounded for his ride, violently gesturing it further into the forest to buy time for setup. Indeed the dwarf’s frenzied hands grew with greater fervor as the loudness of an alert patrol drew near. But, saddle as set as thought possible, the dwarf mounted Paris and bound themselves for the ravine. As the mushroom stalks from the earth lessened and more did pure green appear, the dwarf reasoned the two very close to the gorge then. But too developed a strange premonition of danger, and it was just as the cliffside loomed close did the dwarf think to jerk parallel, arrows rising up into the air and crashing down on tree, branch, path, and dwarf. Indeed one dug itself into his lower back and the dwarf groaned in great displeasure. Two more went into the spider’s legs, and a third struck with such precision it bore through a joint. Paris winced, slowing noticeably. Even by the point well out of sight of the ravine patrols, the dwarf did not celebrate.

A pale sunrise could just be observed. The dwarf consoled the injured spider, walked over to the edge of the infinite blotting and hurled himself over.

“LOADING... LOADED.”...

“Wuzzat saddle’bout?”

The dwarf, frozen as he’d been last the question was put to him, did not answer. His silence was ignored by the guard’s opposite, however.

“Silence, you twit. Let ‘im go on ‘is business.”

“What... I wuz jus’ askin’.”

Heart considerably calm, the dwarf made his way to the grove where Paris awaited and found her obedient and delighted. Exchanging affection, the dwarf’s hand came over the joint gravely injured in a previous life. He gulped and felt a wave of nausea despite the lack of wound--something sickened him about his own toothless, contradictory behavior. He tried to steady himself in regards to saving Doetrieve, but the task was yet done--the dwarf had four more nights.

Onto Paris, the dwarf beget a gentle trot parallel to the ravine with some considerable distance between. Eventually he goaded the creature into mounting bark, and the two surfaced out onto the ever expansive plains of treetop under moon and cloud. Though the dwarf did not really know where to head next given his unfamiliarity, he marveled for a time. Eventually his eyes fell upon what he assumed to be his mountain and, though the cloud aided darkness did not help, the dwarf distinguished a mossy cottage. Towards this beacon the dwarf directed Paris, and it would not be until a brilliant yellow sunrise before they arrived. With no wounds to treat and no real feeling to visit, for the dwarf, upon ‘LOADING’, faced once more his same shroom headed flock, they continued on. As he and the skittering, borrowed pet traveled the sun lit path to the steeple, the dwarf considered with a fright whether all still bore fungi. The image of what he had once named “Tuskus” now in the multiples nearly goaded tears of frustration. He would have squeezed his palms had they not been occupied.

Drawing close to the door, the dwarf remembered leaving his flock in Funguayou’s hands. Despite the exhaustion of two nights in one, the dwarf gave in to a vengeful, prankster inclination and so directed Paris up bricks and stained glass. Together they mounted the roof and approached the hole, Paris, undirected, forming half a web and beginning its first inch downwards a single thread. Below, the dwarf observed his sleeping animals, all yet disturbed, all still dreadfully cap headed, until his eyes caught the slumped over Funguayou. One careful tarsus at a time, Paris crept towards the funguay peacefully off in slumber.

Finally within pedipalp distance, the spider began an assessment of Funguayou. Both eyes blinking off rhythm, the latter stopped amid yawn to gape at the many eyes bearing its own reflection and fall wordlessly backwards.