Installment 41 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment041.png]

Al dutifully considered spreading the load of books among the party and lugging the bookcase back the hard way, before deciding that imposing his own personal discipline on everyone else would be unreasonable. He conjured up the hard-working circle of magical force to carry the bookcase. He did at least make sure he marched harder than usual to get back. Bote stoically kept up with Al's pace despite his shorter legs, seemingly unbothered, and Gruntle seemed not to even notice. Wikwocket cheated, cheerfully riding the "invisible cart". A lone figure atop the keep watched them leave.

A lone figure also watched them return early that evening, though it was a four-hoofed one. The chickens ran for their coop before they got near the house on the outskirts of the village, but the donkey just stood there, bored and chewing grass. This time, Al noticed. Curious, he slowed his march and detoured towards the fenced chicken-yard. The donkey raised his head, taking note of Al's arrival, then lowered it again to bite off another clump of grass.

"We don't scare you?" Al asked the donkey, getting no answer besides its complete indifference.

Al beckoned to Gruntle, who stalked over to loom over the fence next to Al.

"Hey, donkey!" Al called out. "How do you feel about gnolls?"

The donkey raised its head again at the noise, and then just stood there watching them both and chewing on a mouthful of grass.

"What do you think, Gruntle?" Al asked. Gruntle considered.

"Lot of meat, but lean. Better if he was fatter. Maybe if you cook him right."

Al rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I was just wondering if you thought he'd be afraid of you, and if he could pull a cart. He looks pretty strong, and he's the first packbeast we've run into that isn't terrified of us."

"I thought you were our packbeast!" Wikwocket said, "You pull our magic invisible cart! You're not thinking of hitching some poor donkey to the magic cart to pull it for you, are you?"

"It doesn't work that way!" Al complained, "I cast the spell, so it's bound to me, that's just how it works! You can't just tie something else to it..." He tapered off, considering. "Well, anyway, the magic runs out after a while so there's not much point."

"I imagine this creature is kept here as a protector for the chickens. A large animal that's unafraid of predators would certainly discourage foxes and such." Bote speculated, distracting Al from his academic pondering.

"Yeah. I wonder if his owner would be willing to let us take him. That and maybe buying a cart, and our issues with carrying things as we travel overland would be solved," said Al.

"We can ask around when we get back to the inn! Now get moving, my mighty fighting draft-wizard!" Wikwocket said, miming the cracking of a whip in Al's direction. "I'm hungry!"

Gruntle grunted agreement, gaze fixated on the donkey. The donkey stared back and snorted, pawing the ground. Gruntle instinctively recognized the challenge, and he growled. Baring his jagged teeth, he stepped over the fence.

Al heard the growl. "No, wait! Gruntle, he's...he's part of the village! He's like a part of the clan!" he improvised.

Gruntle huffed angrily, turning to glare at Al. It took every bit of Al's self-control to look him in the eyes. The bit of Melissa's treatise that he'd read so far had touched on the subject of dominance, so he knew it was more dangerous for him to back down at this point. He tried to concentrate on looking determined but not angry...or frightened.

Several tense seconds passed. Finally Gruntle huffed again and looked away, back towards the donkey. He grunted once, and closed his clawed hands into fists, as Al exhaled with relief with as much subtlety as he could.

"Very...well...brave...creature," Gruntle slowly said through his clenched jagged teeth as he took another step towards the donkey, who casually turned around as if to walk away. "You...challenged. Do not...flee...now. You...may...have...first...strike. Hit me!" Gruntle finished. The donkey turned to look impassively back as Gruntle took up a pugilist's stance behind it, fists raised.

Al would have found the sight absurdly funny if he weren't directly involved. His mind raced, trying to come up with some strategy for calming the situation, but Bote patted Al's arm and shook their head, nodding back in the direction of the impending fight. The donkey stood there for a moment, then snorted. With a sudden small jump, both rear hooves shot out and caught Gruntle directly in the lower chest, knocking him backwards off of his feet. He landed heavily on his back with a yelp. The braying of the donkey sounded almost like mocking laughter, drowning out Wikwocket's sympathetic cry of "Ouch!"

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Al leapt the low fence and sprinted to check on Gruntle, making sure to keep his distance from the donkey. He ignored the "Whee!" from Wikwocket as the "invisible cart" leapt the fence as well to follow Al. Fortunately, the donkey seemed to be bored again, chewing on another clump of grass and calmly turning to watch Al as he ran, Wikwocket floating along behind him with the bookcase.

Gruntle lay on his back, grimacing as his breath wheezed in and out. He snarled once as he reached up to touch the lightly bleeding crescent-shaped wounds over his lower ribs. Al hoped there were no broken bones or internal injuries. He gave Gruntle a moment to recover from the shock.

"Can you stand?" Al asked, not sure if he should offer help to the much larger gnoll.

Gruntle's answer was a strained groan as he sat up into a sitting-dog pose. He took a few more shallow breaths and slowly stood with another groan. "Will see you again," he growled at the donkey through his pained grimace. Al walked with him back to the fence, ready to provide support to the unsteady gnoll but hoping the whole way that he wouldn't need to because he wasn't certain he could actually handle Gruntle's weight. Bote met them and stoically stood still as Gruntle used Bote's shoulder for support as he gingerly stepped over the fence again.

"Are you badly hurt?" Bote asked him. Gruntle shook his head, though he was guarding his ribs with one hand. "Allow me to examine you, please," Bote insisted. With a grunt, Gruntle gave in and sagged back down into a sitting pose. He yelped as Bote ran their hands over Gruntle's ribs. Bote smiled gently, shaking their head.

"Perhaps not truly broken, but certainly at least cracked," he diagnosed.

"Strong legs," Gruntle said, glaring at the donkey.

Al climbed over the fence himself and came over to look. "Will he ever walk again, doctor?" Wikwocket asked melodramatically as she floated along behind him.

"Only divine intervention can save him now." Bote answered in kind, with a grin. Bote set their hands gently on the hoofprints in Gruntle's skin and made a brief prayer. Divine light answered, momentarily highlighting Gruntle's ribcage beneath his skin and revealing several breaks and cracks, which were erased as the light faded. Gruntle took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"Rejoice, it seems the ineffable plans still have a use for you." Bote said.

"Did you learn anything from this?" Al asked Gruntle.

"Don't always let them go first," Gruntle answered.

Al sighed. "How about do not try to fight the donkey for no reason?"

"Donkey started it."

"That's...," Al began, not sure whether to laugh or sigh, but he didn't finish. He was interrupted by a voice that seemed to come from inside of his own skull. It was calm, professional...and familiar.

"You will first re-read George Mender's Do Not Consent. Then I recommend Wotznot P. Higgujiggie's Otherworldly Beings and How to Make Them Pay. Be cautious," the voice advised.

"I may have Do Not Consent here. I'll read it again, and seek the other one out. Thanks, Father," Al replied aloud, to the bafflement of his companions.

"I'm confused," Wikwocket laughed, "is your father Gruntle, or the donkey?"

Al blinked. "No, no, that...Father just sent me some book recommendations. I'd mentioned I ought to start learning about demons now that I've started running into them. I think I actually saw Do Not Consent in the bookcase there."

"You haven't run into demons before yesterday, have you?"

"Not in person, no."

"Then when did you mention this to your father?"

"I didn't, I told my mother."

"Aren't they both at least a week's travel on foot to the north of here?"

"Yes, but it was in a dream...look, can we just say magic was involved and get back to the inn? I have a lot of reading to do."

As if to spite him, the magic that held Wikwocket and the bookcase off the ground chose that moment to run out.