Installment 26 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment026.png]
Somewhere in the distance to the south, Al heard a now-familiar barking laugh. He looked around in a slight panic.
"Wait, wait...where's Gruntle?"
Neither the villagers nor Wikwocket or Bote seemed to know, judging by the questioning looks they all traded with each other.
"It's not like he blends in with everyone else, how does someone that big...? Never mind, no time."
Al hastily assembled the villagers and got them to arrange themselves into a defensive circle around the well with instructions to make a lot of noise if anything happened. That taken care of, he, Bote, and Wikwocket set off in the direction they'd heard Gruntle's barking from.
They found a low-fenced chickenyard, empty of chickens but spattered with drops of blood. Agitated clucking came from the henhouse as they got near. A few more drops of blood made a trail that led around the front of a nearby cabin. There they found Gruntle standing, watching intently southward down the road, ignoring the blood still dripping from his hand. They ran to meet him.
"Gruntle, what are you doing? What happened?" Al asked as they got near.
"Scouting." Gruntle answered, still watching to the south. "You're too slow. Gone now." He pointed to the prints left in the dirt, large and resembling - but not really matching - the tracks of a bear, wolf, or cougar.
"The beast?"
Gruntle grunted assent.
"Were you locked in a desperate battle for survival?" an excited Wikwocket asked.
"Nah. Just looked at me and left."
"Then, what happened to your hand?" asked Al.
Finally reminded of it, Gruntle held his hand up and looked at it. He grinned.
"Chicken wanted to fight."
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Bote examined Gruntle's hand and deemed the injuries superficial, so the group immediately headed back towards the village well, lest the beast decide to circle around and attack before they got there. Al called out to ask if everyone was all right even before they were in sight of the villagers, and was relieved to hear a scattering of affirmation from them.
While Bote cleaned up Gruntle's hand, they got Gruntle to describe the entire event. Once they'd reconstructed the situation in as much detail as they could, several questions arose.
"Firstly, what do you think it was looking for?" Al considered.
"Maybe some ancient cursed necklace of jewel-encrusted wolves' teeth, stolen from an forgotten tomb and hidden under someone's bed?" Wikwocket suggested with hopeful playfulness.
"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Al asked her.
She tapped her head. "It all comes flowing out from in here. Probably way more exciting than what it was really after but I'm kind of an optimist."
"I suspect it was looking for the villagers," Bote offered. "It seems although it has an interest in other meats, it is particularly going after the people here."
"That'd make sense. I'm glad we got everyone together away from the edge of the village. Now, you said it tried to speak to you?"
"Think so. Sounded like trying to talk." Gruntle answered.
"What did it say?"
"Don't know. Didn't understand him."
"Well, what did it sound like?"
Gruntle imitated the sound the beast had made. Wikwocket was also able to mimic the sound Gruntle produced remarkably well, other than not having the size and depth of voice to get the pitch quite right. To Al, it did sound something like speech - a noise like a person angrily growling a word. Unfortunately, that word seemed to be something like "Uryeh" or "Ooeryah" and meant absolutely nothing to any of them.
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"Well, I don't recognize what language that could be from, if it's from any language at all," Al said.
"Perhaps it's the beast's name? Or the name of its master? Or a place?" Bote considered.
"Or the name of a lost sibling! Oh, I know, maybe it's the name of its long lost love! A beautiful beast-princess, kidnapped by...by...," Wikwocket speculated enthusiastically.
"...by chicken farmers?" Al suggested flatly, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe chicken farmers who are secretly dragons?" he asked Bote sarcastically.
"Now you are simply being silly," Bote said.
Al rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Yes, I am. Well, it doesn't seem like we're going to solve any of the mysteries right now. I'm guessing any answers that are out there are sitting up there at the keep. We should probably start getting ready."
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Al found a quiet spot to sit down with his wizardry notes to rehearse and prepare for the magic he thought he might need to use. Bote found a nearby spot for quiet meditation. Not having any particularly esoteric preparations to make, Wikwocket recruited Gruntle for a game of "tag".
That the game was like "sparring", but for hunting instead of fighting, was easy enough to explain, though why the winner of each round suddenly had to flee from the loser seemed to confuse him at first. Wikwocket came up with the explanation that the "hunter" was actually pretending to steal something from the hunted, which Gruntle seemed to immediately understand. They spent the afternoon alternately pursuing and escaping each other in the area around the center of the village. A few too-slow villagers were knocked over along the way but nobody seriously injured. The two ended up just about evenly matched. Both of them were quite sneaky in their own ways. Wikwocket's short legs kept her from matching Gruntle's speed over open ground, but her size and agility gave her an advantage when dodging, or hiding when she managed to get out of sight for a moment.
They finally wound down as the sun sank towards the horizon. They shared a mutually-respectful fist-bump and cool water from the well. Al and Bote seemed to have finished their more supernatural preparations and Al was now busy carefully tying two of the ampoules of ultraphlogisticated oil to crossbow bolts.
"I am not certain what you have been doing is safe," Bote said to Gruntle and Wikwocket. "Be warned, that one's unpredictable, wild nature may put you in danger of violent harm."
"Relax, we're all clan now! He won't hurt me!" Wikwocket countered.
"That was not addressed to you," Bote replied with an amused smile.
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Rose and Gertrude brought out bowls of chicken stew for them all as dusk approached.
"Thank you again for what you've done for us already, and what you mean to do for us tonight," Rose said, hesitantly. Gertrude nudged her, and Rose continued. "Uh...how much are we going to owe you for doing all of this?" she finally asked.
"Oh, well," Al stuttered, taken aback by the question and a little embarrassed at having forgotten to bring the subject up before. "I mean, the request did mention you didn't have a lot to pay with so we weren't really expecting too much, and anyway we're just starting out so..."
Al's voice tapered off as Wikwocket held up her hand and gave him a disapproving look.
"Wow, you really aren't good at that, are you?" she asked with a grin. She put her right hand over her heart and struck a theatrically-dramatic pose.
"We shall be repaid by the reputation we earn by our deeds! We shall be repaid with the smiles of every man, woman, child, and chicken in Henhaven! Indeed, it is we who must repay the kind hospitality of this fine village!" Wikwocket declared with appropriate drama. "You did mention food and a place to sleep any time we pass through, too, though," she added more conversationally.
Al rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling a little. "The smile of every chicken? But, fine, yes, you're better at the speeches than I am," he told Wikwocket. "She's right though, we're just starting out in this line of work and we're going to need to build up our reputation before we start getting offered the kind of jobs where people will pay a lot for them. We'll probably ask for some food and supplies once we're done. Other than that, just put in a kind word for us with any travelers that happen to pass through."
"Again, thank you," Rose repeated.
Gertrude rubbed her miraculously-healed shoulder.
"You didn't let the beast finish me. Don't let it finish any of you, either," she said.
"We are careful to plan at times like this," Bote assured her. "Do not die is always a key step in the plans."