Installment 15 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment015.png]

The weather was beginning to turn colder and cloudier at midday as they started back to Silveroak with their new party-member. Wikwocket was thoroughly enthused.

"...and we can get them to do that thing where they put silver on my sword! No idea if that really does any good but it sounds awesome! Oh, and magic stuff! I want to be able to stab bad people with magic! Maybe we could get some of those magic rings that give you special magic powers! Oh, we should get some nice outfits made out of cloth-of-gold in case we get invited to a noble's dinner-party! That's a thing that happens to adventurers, right? And ponies, so we don't have to walk everywhere!..."

Wikwocket clearly didn't have a good idea of how much 500 gold coins was beyond "far more than she'd ever had at any one time before", but Al didn't feel like dampening her enthusiasm. Bote was quiet as usual but their bearded face sported a contented smile.

Gruntle walked along just ahead and to the right of Al, where he could be watched. As promised, Gruntle was carrying a bit of everyone else's gear to lighten their load. He'd had plenty of room in his pack, as he seemed to be bringing a bare minimum. There was large, sturdy blanket to serve as a bedroll, a bowl, spoon, and knife for eating, the traditional coil of rope, a waterskin, a firestarting kit, a small coinpurse, and a cloth bag filled with balls of dried fatty mutton mixed with berries and hard cheese for traveling rations. The only thing odd that had been added was a length of fine black-and-silver cloth, carefully folded into a thick square. They'd watched the retired adventurers pack his traveling supplies for him, all the while giving him little bits of advice on how to behave properly as an adventurer, as though Gruntle were a child "setting out to seek his fortune" rather than a demonic, bestial thing. It had been surreal.

Al was feeling increasingly worried as they walked. They were planning to stroll right into a civilized populace with a very large, armed, almost naked, clearly monstrous creature. How were the townsfolk going to react to this? The retired adventurers that had sent him off hadn't seemed to think there would be any problems, but Al wasn't feeling so confident. His idea of finding a very large hooded cloak to throw over Gruntle had turned out to be infeasible. Gruntle was willing to carry quite a bit, but he had some sort of irrational hang-up about wearing any kind of clothing or armor. "Gets in the way", he had grumbled. Melissa had cautioned Al about forcing the issue.

"You can ask him to do whatever you want. As far as Gruntle is concerned you and Bote are both a sort of clan shaman and he has an instinctive reluctance to challenge you. If you come up with a clever justification you might get him to put up with it for a short time. However if you try to force the issue it could end up being a dominance problem. You should avoid that," she had said.

At least their first stop was right by the town entrance. The Pickled Swine was situated to catch travelers coming into town from the Northern or Eastern roads right as they arrived. If the townsfolk reacted as badly as Al feared they could, they'd at least be able to leave quickly and hunker down somewhere away from the town boundary and send in one of the more human-ish members of the party to try to stock up on the supplies they were after.

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

Al was able to distract himself from his thoughts for a while by watching Gruntle walk and wondering how he kept his balance. His feet were like giant dog's paws, though proportionately wider than a Gruntle-sized dog's paws would be. Anatomically, it was similar to a humanlike person walking around on the balls of their feet. Al glanced to make sure nobody was watching too closely, and tried it himself. He was surprised to find it more comfortable than he expected. The steps put a bit less strain on his knees that way, and he found it was easier to walk quietly. However, it was harder to keep his balance, and he could tell that if he kept it up for more than a few minutes his calves would become very unhappy.

"And we can get new boots for you, Al! Magic ones!"

Al returned to walking normally.

The rest of the walk back to town was quiet, and their arrival less dramatic than Al had feared. Most people seemed to be staying indoors away from the unseasonably cold weather. He did spot a young child pointing in their direction as her mother walked her down the road, but her mother made her put her arm down and rushed her away down a side-street. At least there was no screaming.

The sign depicting an open winebarrel with a pig's head sticking out of the top announced they had arrived back at the Pickled Swine. Al picked up his pace to get ahead of the others. He turned to walk backwards as he gestured for the others to slow down.

"Let me go in ahead to warn them before you go in, we don't want anyone to panic when...you know." Al said, nodding in Gruntle's direction. Then he spun and sprinted ahead to the door.

"Oh, you're back," the tavernkeeper said as he looked up from his seemingly perpetual job of cleaning mugs. "So how did it go, do you guys have another warrior now?"

"Thanks," Al said, appreciating the another, "But, look, we're about to bring him in here and he's kind of ... frightening." He raised his voice a bit so the other patrons could hear. "Don't be alarmed, he's not going to hurt anyone! Probably..."

"Now, don't worry, we may not be one of those big-city adventuring taverns or anything, but we get a lot of different kinds of people here. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"No, you don't understand, he's not a regular person, he's kind of...monstrous! Just don't..." Al began urgently, knowing the others would catch up and come in at any moment.

The tavernkeeper interrupted with a cheerful, dismissive wave.

"No, really, it's okay." He looked up at the sound of the door opening. "Oh, hey Gruntle. How's the new party working out?" he asked, cheerfully.

Gruntle grunted in reply as he stepped inside. Al stared at the tavernkeeper in shock, then in accusation.

"You...you know Gruntle?"

"Oh, yeah, he and that adventuring party he was running around with come into town from time to time."

"Did you know he was the 'junior warrior' mentioned in the posting on the board?"

"Well, obviously, who else would it be? The rest of them are retired."

"Why didn't you say something?!" Al nearly shouted.

"They told me not to."

In response to Al's glare, he elaborated. "Gnolls have a well-earned reputation around here, we had some real problems with them a few years back. Still do, up in the northeast. A lot of people have died. It was pointed out to me that the kinds of people who would want something like that in their group would not be the kind of people they would want Gruntle traveling with. I guess the other way around is true, too. If I'd told you he was one of the monsters that had been murdering their way across the monarchy, would you have still gone to answer the posting?"

"Absolutely not! Okay, that's a fair point."

It seemed there would be no problems after all. No panic, no shouts of "slay the beast!", no city watch accusing Al of trafficking in demonic creatures. Al began to relax...

...until he turned around to see a man throw a punch at Gruntle.